


don't wanna go to heaven (without raisin' hell)

by lymmea, Trilies



Series: Know Where To Be [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Consensual, Digital Art, DimiclaudeBigBang2020, Execution, Fantastic Racism, Hand Jobs, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Kidnapping As Backstory, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Racism, Recovery, Religious Discussion, Religious Fanaticism, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Violence, as in they're both present, based on an animatic, gladiator slavery, side characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 128,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lymmea/pseuds/lymmea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: When he was a child, taken and taken in by the church, Claude had no one to turn to. No one he could trust. Not until he crept down and made friends with the demon in the basement.Eventually, he was sent away to be taught how to be "better"."Eventually" then eventually became a year, and then many years.And many years later, Claude looks down into the execution arena and sees a familiar blue eye staring back up at him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Know Where To Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218326
Comments: 27
Kudos: 40
Collections: Dimiclaude Big Bang 2020





	1. Doomed But Just Enough

"Ha, I really can't believe it. A whole decade without seeing an execution... Then it's almost like seeing one for the first time, huh?"   
  
Quartermaster Henning laughs, and Claude laughs along with him, because he's learned to get good at that. Henning makes it easy, too. In the time he's had to make his stops in the city, Claude has thought him serious. Apparently that's just when he's on the clock. Off of it, with the two of them making their way from the supply warehoue to the city center, he's in much higher spirits.   
  
Claude wishes he could say the same.   
  
"What can I say?" he chuckles, winking. Before them, the church looms. Whenever he sees the massive building from a distance, its spires piercing the heavens, his stomach twists unpleasantly.  
  
Hiding that reaction is also something he's gotten good at. It brings up too many terrible memories, too much scorn and harassment and dismissive glances. All except for one pair of eyes, eyes that had crinkled in joy whenever they saw him.  
  
Claude puts those memories aside, even if his heart aches doing so. Then again, his heart always does. "I've been so busy doing my work for the church," he continues. "I mean, the Saints sure didn't take breaks when they were off clearing the world of sin, right?"   
  
Henning laughs again. It's not a bad laugh: soft, from the heart and the lungs both. He's an honest guy, really. The unfortunate thing is that they've both ended up in this particular city.  
  
Both of them step to the side, out of the way of a some hurrying person. In their arms are bags of food, cheap material falling apart at the seams. It's a haggard looking stranger, clothes too dirty, cheeks too hollow. Yet while he's a stranger, in this city, he's not a strange _sight_. Claude has seen people exactly like him more times than he can count here. Henning makes a sympathetic click of his tongue, but he doesn't help. That, too, isn't a strange sight in this city.   
  
He's a lot more occupied with turning back to Claude, smacking a friendly hand along his back. "Well, I can see why the priests like you so much then," he chuckles, even though Claude knows he doesn't see anything. "Hard work pays off, I guess. But it's not a sin to rest now and then."   
  
Right on cue, they're before the many smaller buildings that lead up to the church. Every bit of land inside the city walls is claustrophobic, but Claude has always found the areas there the worst of them all. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end, longing for road, for the feel of his horse between his thighs, for a sky he can see without being marred by the buildings of the city reaching up towards it.... He smiles. In the city walls, all he can do is smile. "Well, that's what you're doing for me, right, sir?"   
  
"It's the least I can do." Both of them pause at the entrance of the Colosseum. It really has been such a long time since he's seen it... For the protection of the city and its people, stern faced guards carefully look over every single person that comes to the gates. There's a thick crowd tonight, which tickles at Claude's memory. The last time he attended an execution... Yeah, there had been a crowd then, too, hadn't there?   
  
Crowds don't apply to those who directly serve the church and its needs, however. Quartermaster Henning waves over the heads of the people around them, catching the attention of a particular guard. After that, well, after that it's child's play to skip to the front of the line, past so many people waiting for entrance, until they're in the tight hallways that lead up to the seats.   
  
Claude knows what's asked of him during times like these. As they exist into the stands proper, he huffs out a laugh and raises a hand to his eyes. "Wow, I'm feeling nostalgic!"   
  
"It's a nice feeling, right?" Henning slings an arm around his shoulder, guiding him along. "But you'll probably have better seats than when you were just a kid."   
  
Fluttering his eyelashes, he presses a hand to his chest daintily. "Why, Quartermaster, best seats in the house for _me_ , your humble servant?" Another warm and friendly laugh, his shoulders shaken a little bit. Henning really does seem like a decent person, one who studiously goes over his duties and helps out those he feels are hardworkers as well. He's not evil. From what little Claude has seen of him, what more he's dug into about him, he's not _evil_.   
  
It's a shame, honestly. It'd be easier to hate him if that were the case. Claude wishes he could hate more people than he does.   
  
But life isn't that easy. He allows himself to be gathered onto the seats of the Colosseum, stone benches not exactly the _most_ pleasant to sit on. Fortunately for Claude, he's had to sit in far worse positions when he's gone out on Church business... which is, more often times than not, hunting business. Well, there's no point complaining.  
  
As he adjusts, he casts a keen eye over their location. They're "better seats" not because they feel better, because there's only a couple of places high above the _rabble_ that are actually comfortable. Those seats are the ones reserved for high up priests, and they aren't going to show up for just any ol' execution.   
  
No, these are good seats because of the _location_. They're not directly behind either of the entrances where executioner or criminal enter. Instead, they're right in the middle, where they can see both individuals emerge, when that eventually happens. Perhaps because Henning is well known as the church's quartermaster, people were willing to shuffle aside for them to get these seats... Right there are the front, so that they can peer over the edge of the Colosseum pit.   
  
Well. They _could_ peer over the edge of the pit, if not for one thing. Claude reaches forward, running his fingers against the long steel bars that are embedded in the stone. He gives a low whistle. "Wow. I don't remember these from when I was a kid."   
  
Leaning back, utterly relaxed, Henning nods and doesn't seem too surprised. "Oh yeah, they've no doubt made a couple of changes since a _decade_ ago," he says, pointedly nudging Claude in the ribs with his elbow. "But the executioner has gotten pretty high up more than once a couple of times, and the church thought it would be for the best if they were cautious. Well, it hasn't made any attempts recently.... I suppose it learned its lesson."   
  
It. It, it, it. The use of the word rings in Claude's head, and he wants to ask _How do you know that "it" is what the executioner wants you to use?_ But he doesn't say that. When he was a child, he learned quickly that the adults of the church never wanted to hear his questions. Questions implied he wasn't listening, even when he was. Questions implied that he wasn't respecting them. That he wasn't trusting them. That he was disobedient.   
  
These things are all true, of course... it's just that Claude knows better than to say _that_ , too. At least, he doesn't say it aloud. Instead, he asks the questions himself, and it is himself who he trusts to find the answer.   
  
Instead, he laughs again, says some asinine thing about nostalgia and how the world moves on, but his eyes stay on the bars. They really hadn't been there when he'd been a kid. Back then, the priests and sisters had trusted that the walls were far too high for any demon to breach.  
  
Back then, he had believed them... but not because he thought it was an impossible thing to do. He'd look down into the execution ring and seen the executioner, the so called _demon_ , and seen how big he'd been. Back then, it had been so clear, even though he knew the creature's name was not _demon_. That didn't mean he couldn't see why the church, cowardly and vicious, thought to claim the creature was that.   
  
When they're lucky, humans grow to a little over six feet tall. Most are far shorter than that; Claude knows because he's one of them. That had clearly not been the case with the demon, clearing seven feet all too easily. In Claude's memories, he had always thought the demon eight feet, ten feet, and yet, somehow simultaneously, smaller than him. It hadn't been because the demon had been far down in the execution ring, too far away to reach any of them, or, at least, it had not only been that.   
  
It had been because... the demon had not _held_ himself tall. He had been a ragged creature, hollow eyed, shoulders slumped. Claude had looked at him kill a human being, and yet somehow felt no fear even as his companions - other children in the church's orphanage - had yelled and screamed, terrified and delighted in different ways, each of them. Even now, Claude has to wonder at his own reaction... but he knows what he had seen.   
  
His companions, his teachers, all of them - they had seen a soulless monster end a human life, something that would be a sin if done by human hands.  
  
He had looked down and seen a beaten person kill in surrender and desperation.   
  
There had been no bars, back then. His view had been wholly and completely unobstructed. As his fingers trace along lukewarm metal, they pause along grooves that mar the smooth surface. Claw marks. They don't go far, only at the base and a few inches up... but they tell a story he can imagine well.  
  
Old memories surge up again, of soft padded hands, the brush of fur, claws pressing so delicately around the curve of his hand like he was something fragile. "I didn't know those old bones still had so much energy in them," he says, still rubbing the pad of his thumb against the claw marks. "I wonder what got him all worked up."   
  
Around them, the seats are all filling up. Various spectators bubble with excitement for a bloody show, or exchange whispered gossip on the criminal tonight. Out of pure habit, he can't help but listen in, picking up snatches of conversation that aren't meant for him.  
  
It's a murderer tonight. Claude has been out of the city for weeks now, as he often is and tries to be, but he picks up on the tale quick enough thanks to the wagging tongues that so eagerly fill this city. Terrible tale, a guard that lost his job due to being caught at petty theft, and who had injured his leg shortly after so that it made it all the harder for him to get a job. Cue the spending too much on spirits, too aggravated at his wife...   
  
Terrible tale. A sad tale. Yet on the lips of those around him, it does not sound like an _unfamiliar_ one. Claude tries to not let that observation get to him, instead looking up when he realizes that the quartermaster hasn't yet responded to his comment.   
  
What meets his inquisitive gaze is a light smirk, and Henning smacks his back once again with a chuckle. "What did I tell you about things changing?" he teases. "The executioner you're thinking of died _years_ ago, Claude! A new one was brought in, and I bet he's going to be a lot more impressive than what you remember of the last one."   
  
His stomach drops, subconscious understanding what this might mean even before the thoughts have a chance to coagulate inside his skull. "What?" he asks, but it's too late to get an answer. The stands are full up, now, with few people want to miss one of the rare spectacles that are permitted in the city. The noise of the crowd swallows him up, and it's the sharp cry of one of the church guards that pierces through to call them all into silence. No, not silence. Prayer.   
  
Obediently, Claude clasps his hands together and bows his head, just like every single other person in the stands this evening. That's how this always is for every major event... but for an execution? Prayer is especially important... at least in the eyes of the people, of the church.  
  
For those in the stands, he knows that this is all in hope and belief that they will never face the same fate of the people down in the execution ring, even if they only view _one_ of the two as a person at all. If they are devoted, if they remember their prayers, if they live what they believe to be a virtuous life... Then they will not suffer the same fate.   
  
They will not be a mindless monster, doomed for the torturous hell that awaits them in the afterlife. They will not be a hapless victim before a ravenous "beast", a mark on their skin declaring their sin to the entire world.   
  
The various guards, monks, and priests that watch have a different reason for this display: control. That, Claude is sure of. They watch to make sure that everyone stays obedient. They want to make this... an intimidation tactic. A threat, held up for everyone to see, in the guise of punishing the wicked, and a reason for those who should be allies to turn on one another instead.  
  
Claude's fingers tighten imperceptibly against one another, at least to anyone who'd look. Him, he feels that painful pressure dig in, and slows his breathing. Executions.... He hates them so much. It's one of the many reasons why he long ago made himself one of the church's hunters and tradesmen. There are a lot of reasons, of course, so many he couldn't even begin to list them all.... but this is a good reason as well.  
  
All this punishment isn't actually meant to help people, to keep them on the right path. He knows for a fact that it's not, because it never addresses the _actual_ cause. All of this is just...  
  
The call to prayer ends, and they all lift their heads up in unison, individuality erased for that one clear moment. Claude does his best to ignore the way that always makes him feel off-kilter, relaxing in his seat as a priest begins to give his sermon.  
  
Well, part of it is a sermon, part of it is a judgment, both of them twisted into one sickening thing where he tries to justify why a man deserves a painful death. For this crowd, it will almost always succeed. It's a bit of a nuisance, honestly, trying to shift through the fire and brimstone, the purple prose combined with religious imagery, but Claude tries anyway. As he does so, he takes in the reactions of the crowd.  
  
It's easy enough to see how more than a few people's gazes begin to wander off or glaze over as the preacher carries on. While they're all devout enough to pray, well, they're not really _here_ to listen to why murder is obviously bad in a fifteen minute speech detailing the reasons why. They all feel that most of them know it's a terrible crime, which, honestly, they're probably right about. Religion isn't necessary to have people realize wanton murder is bad... at least on the base domestic level. (War is a lot trickier a conversation, Claude has found.)  
  
Others lean forward with considerable more interest, and it's easy enough to pick them out from one another. You have the truly and painfully devout, their eyes perfectly locked onto the preacher and hands clasped together desperately. They really do drink so deeply from the poisoned well that the church claims will cleanse their many flaws... It makes his heart clench. They're different from the people who are... more like him. Those who watch the preacher, take in his words, but more because they're interested in the base _facts_ of it all.  
  
Well, the base fact of it all is that the man is a murderer, a path that the church claims is an innate sin with no regard for the circumstances which directed him upon it. At long last, the preacher is finished, and turns away to walk solemnly back to one of the entrances. In his position, Claude can't get a completely clear view of it, but he can get just enough to see how the gate is raised up on that entrance. Likely it's the one where the criminal is waiting.  
  
The alternative is passing by a "demon", after all.  
  
All around him, the crowd is stirring back into excitement again, and their words create an almost electric buzz throughout the building as a whole. This is what they all really came here for. This is the entire _point_ of the coliseum. At his side, Henning claps a hand to his shoulder, like this isn't a spectacle celebrating a death that never need happen. "Get a good look. They managed to get their hands on a real monster, this time."  
  
Claude can't entirely tell if Henning means the criminal who has been condemned to death, or the executioner himself. Maybe, in the eyes of the church and all those who follow it, the difference doesn't really matter. Certainly it doesn't matter right now, because the gates on both side of the arena rise open, and criminal and executioner both step into the judging light.   
  
The criminal for tonight is exactly the kind of person Claude would think of, hearing his tale whispered all throughout the crowd as he has for the last fifteen minutes. He still looks to be in fairly good condition, all things considered.  
  
But his injury and prison life has clearly left him in a less than fit state as he had been once upon a time. He favors one leg over the other carefully. Still, his shoulders are broad, muscles visible underneath the excess flesh of disuse. His gaze is red, no doubt the effects of both crying at his predicament and forced to go cold turkey after he was caught in the aftermath of his crime.   
  
More eye-catching is who the condemned man is eyeing so warily, so sharply. The sight of his opponent sends the crowd into an excited frenzy. Claude is right in the midst of them, and he feels like he's drowning. How must it feel for the condemned, down there in the spotlight with the audience nothing but a darkened shadowy mass calling for his death? Almost rotting for a monster, a demon, their executioner? And worse... How must this feel for the executioner?   
  
Because that's not a monster, nor a demon, down there in the arena. Not a demon, despite the controllers who are guiding them wearily with tattoos burning bright.   
  
Claude wants to suck in a breath, close his eyes, curl his hands into trembling fists. Instead, he smiles, and says, "Wow."   
  
It's what Henning is looking for, after all, and Claude lives to please. Sure enough, the quartermaster grins. "Ha, definitely better than the old one, right? Although this demon is even more vicious than the one before it," he says, looking away from Claude so that he can take in the scene down in the arena.  
  
_They are not a demon._ He wants to yell those words, beg someone to understand, but he knows they won't. Maybe some of the higher ups know the truth... Actually, he knows for a fact that they know the truth, they just refuse to accept it for what it is. Yelling would accomplish _nothing_. So Claude swallows his emotions, like he so often has learned to do, and looks down towards the voa shackled by brilliant ropes of light as they're guided into the arena.   
  
Most of the people in this city have never stepped far outside its walls. Claude learned that early on when he was a child in the orphanage. Once he had been able to re-earn his freedom as a person, old enough to volunteer for jobs that would take him out of the city and out into other towns, into forests and fields, it had almost been amazing to him how new everything felt again. It had been a relief to see other people not so bound by this section of the church, and he'd been glad to see others from lands beyond the church's own.   
  
That had included the voa.  
  
It's easy to see why people so locked away in their little city would be so frightened of them, would call them "demon" or "monster". The voa down in the arena is a perfect example of how frightening they can be. Claude long ago accepted that he'd never grow to be a particularly tall man, and that's good, he supposes, because most voa tend to rise easily over a height like his when they're fully grown.   
  
The executioner the church has chosen is _especially_ intimidating in this regard. From a distance, Claude can only guess at their proper height, but they easily tower over their captors by.... gods. At least three feet? Bordering on four, possibly.  
  
They're _massive_ , tall even for a voa, and they'd be even taller if their horns rose upwards. Instead, from within that pale mane of hair, they curve along the side of their head from their temples. An unfortunate choice, considering it only adds to their "demonic" look.   
  
Yeah, that alone would threaten anyone, even if voa were more human. Even if they weren't covered in a layer of fur, even if they didn't have long tails, the claws that curve into too sharp points at the end of their fingers.  
  
Even the more harmless aspects of them, like legs that are more beast-like than human with their warped shape and elongated paws, are seen by the church as evil. And they're evil because they're outside the norm. Anything outside their norm, their beliefs, is evil.   
  
Ugh. Claude can't shake the thoughts out of his head, not when he's surrounded by people like this with an execution he's supposed to be watching, so he instead taps the outside of his thigh with a jittery finger that he doubts will be noticed much by anyone. He knew this was going to be an unpleasant experience from the very start, but this had been a chance to grow closer to yet another one of his superiors, someone higher up the foodchain. Trying to force the thoughts out of his head, he looks over the executioner again.   
  
Their handlers, their _controllers_ , don't dare escort them to the very center of the ring. If Claude asked any of them, he supposes he would get some answer about making things fair for sinners. One last little bit of mercy. This way, there's plenty of space between the two of them still. Space for the criminal to run, if he thinks that can ever help him, or fight, if he dares to.  
  
After all, that's the true "mercy" allegedly behind this whole farce: if the condemned can kill their executioner, a monster with no soul, then they are given freedom. Not freedom in the city to live the life they once had, no... but some sort of freedom. A life still able to continue on.   
  
Claude's gaze flickers to the man in question again, taking in the way his whole body tenses. If he were any closer, he's sure he could see him trembling from the rush of adrenaline no doubt filling his body, and his hand seems pretty damn tight around the fireplace poker he holds. No doubt the weapon he used to kill his wife. While he hasn't been to an execution for years and years, Claude still knows how the basics go. The whole mess is just an excuse for symbolism, and killing someone with an excuse.   
  
On the other side, chains of light disperse around the executioner, the voa - man? Claude thinks they're a man. Voa have an even smaller sexual dimorphism than humans do, which was already pretty small to begin with, and their idea of _gender_ is even wider than what he thinks most of the human countries consider... and humans are pretty open minded on that , at least. But around half of all Voa develop visible horns, and he thinks the majority - although not all of those that do - are male.   
  
Claude doesn't know a lot of voa _personally_ , honestly. He's a regular to some of them, because merchants are most successful when they have a wide customer base, but _personally_ is different. Yet from what he knows of them...  
  
A guy like this would be quite an attractive individual, even when he makes expressions like the one he does now: cold, dismissive, a curl of lip fortunately visible from Claude's front row seats. The short blond mane of hair around his face falls limply with the simply motion, an additional and messy shield of sorts from the rest of the world.  
  
That's not how it should be. Claude bites down on his tongue, forces himself to stay silent and with the same smile as usual on his face. Yet still the thought persists in his head.  
  
_This is not how it should be_.  
  
This executioner, this voa so far away from his home islands, should be surrounded by his fellows. He should be able to bare his teeth in a faint smile instead of a snap and snarl towards his captors when they linger too long near him. He could be happy, and healthy, and maybe even taller than he is now, gods know the church can't be giving him the proper meals that would really let him be at his fullest. Claude could see him in some seaport town, smile at him, tease maybe-   
  
Clearly he's not biting down on his own tongue hard enough if his brain can still wander in that direction, and Claude sighs at himself. This one, unfortunately, _is_ a thing he actually does, and he grins when Henning glances over to him. "You know, looking at an executioner that big and tall, I feel kind of bad for the guy down there."   
  
"Hey, don't start feeling too sympathetic for murderers," Henning says, nudging him in the side again. Yeah, the quartermaster is definitely a more relaxed guy compared to many others Claude has come to know in his life.  
  
Some of the more strict and religious types would scold him, or be aghast that he could feel any sort of way about a criminal of any kind. Henning just thinks he's joking, in a way. Making a comment about how the criminal down in the arena doesn't have a chance on getting out of this one.   
  
Well. That's not wrong. Claude doesn't think he's ever heard of very many people winning against the executioner of the church. That's part of the point. He can barely remember anything from his childhood, just one woman who had made it out against the old executioner.  
  
He met her, once. He thinks she's dead, now. As he turns his attention back properly towards the arena at the glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, he thinks about who else has survived an execution match. There was a whole thing with a kid, a few years ago, he thinks...   
  
Grumbling erupts somewhere to the side of him, and Claude drags his mind out of the history lesson its trying to think back on. The executioner seems to understand just what kind of opponent he's facing, because there's no immediate slaughter. When Claude refocuses down into the arena, he's begun to idly circle around the condemned man... but none of his _attention_ is on him.  
  
Instead, he paces like a lazy predator: shoulders hunched, ears twitching with every noise (of which there are a hundred at every given time, poor guy), and tail swishing slowly behind him. But it's not the man in the arena with him who has the executioner's attention.   
  
Claude has made a living out of - well, he's done a lot of things. But the thing which has him most known in the church, the thing he has made a living out of, a life he has to rely on, is that of a hunter. He's spent more hours than most people _pray_ in this city just sitting still, watching, learning. Voa may look like animals to the eye of a human, but they're people as much as anyone else. Yet with this one, this executioner... All around Claude, the yelling and whining of the crowd fades away - same way rain and thunder blends together into simple white noise when he's out on the roads or in forests.   
  
That stuff? That's inconsequential, to a mind born out of habit, born from so many hours and days and months spent in the forests and fields. The important thing is the animalistic manner in which the executioner walks - no, _prowls_ the arena perimeter.  
  
Claude doesn't see his face, not initially, as the executioner starts on the side of the arena that Claude is sitting on. He doesn't _need_ to see his face. This is still a decent vantage point in which to watch _him_. While Claude doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to see a man die a violent death or another man be forced to commit it, he does have to be thankful that at least Henning provided him a decent seat.   
  
From here, he can watch the exact way the executioner's ears twitch, and guess at what they react to - the swear of _demon_ from a couple of seats away from Claude, the rattling of anxious fingernails against metal as someone watches from a front row seat all the way on the opposite side of the arena from Claude, the aggravated shuffling from some of the controllers near the executioner's gate.  
  
Never towards the criminal, not even when he hisses something under his breath, not when the tip of the poker drags against the ground, not the grinding of anxious feet into the dirt floor that awaits _someone's_ blood. Not an ounce of that concentrated and murderous intent is spared an ounce for the condemned. Claude's finger twitches and stills against his thigh.   
  
It's directed towards the audience.   
  
"Is this executioner always like this?" he asks conversationally, as one of the controllers steps forward with a frustrated sneer about her lips. Claude had been blown away by the presence of another voa trapped in this hellish role, when the group had first stepped out, so he had paid more attention to the executioner instead of any of the monks at his side.  
  
Now, however, his gaze flicks to this one, and he takes note of the particular tattoos inked along her arms and that shows on her chest where her shirt is left open - right over her sternum. Some of hers are similar to the tattoos he himself bears, like those which form weapons, but the others...   
  
Henning doesn't seem particularly surprised, although he is amused in an anticipatory sort of way. "Oh, a lot of the time," he says casually, as the controller down in the arena draws out a long whip of light from the brilliant glow of her ink. No controlling another living creature today for her, then. "It's not just size it has over the last one, but definitely a lot more energy, ha ha. I feel bad for the handlers, because it's never exactly hard to point at criminals, but - ohp! There it goes!"   
  
There it goes indeed. Just the sight of the weapon, of light of any kind, has the executioner snapping in the controller's direction like a whip himself. Claude has been extremely lucky to see the occasional voa sparring lesson; he knows how fast they can be.  
  
But it is terrifyingly clear to him now that those were just practice matches, things for health and exercise. At full and murderous speed, the executioner is a comet, a burst of ember from a fire, electricity. The controller seems used to handling him when he's like this, and even she barely manages to get out of the way in time with what Claude is pretty sure is a swear.   
  
Her cohorts step forward, light burning off of their skin and into weapons as well. Their whips crack, just enough to dissuade the executioner. Behind them, the initial controller retreats, towards the gate again.  
  
For a second, Claude thinks the executioner might charge right through, and his ears strain to see if he can pick out any traces of coherent Voali from the loud snarl he spits out. No Voali, if the executioner even remembers any of it anymore, and no attempted murder of church monks, either. All he does is jerk his chin upwards before turning sharply around to face what's supposed to be his _actual_ opponent. As he does so, his tail snaps against the dirt, and a dust cloud billows up in the controllers' faces.   
  
This time, Claude doesn't try to hide his slight laugh, and he curls one hand along his mouth as he grins. He thinks he can get away with it, in this case, although not _exactly_ for the reason he can hear other people chuckle.  
  
"I can see why you feel bad for the handlers now," he tells Henning, not taking his eye off of the executioner as he eyes the criminal. What Claude doesn't say is that _he_ personally doesn't feel bad for those handlers. "You're right on the energy part of things..."   
  
Once, he had met one of the only people who had won an execution match. Once, he had watched the old executioner fight a battle he had won. In both cases, no matter the fact that they were on opposite sides of the ring at one point in their lives, Claude had seen a familiar spirit to them.  
  
It was the spirit of someone _broken_ , someone who had surrendered themself to the act of continuously living but expected nothing out of that particular arrangement. In the woman's case, he supposed it was because she could not give up something she had fought so hard to keep, even if the result as an expendable and estranged church _dog_ who could find no true solace with anyone else in her community. With the former executioner... Who knows. Claude wishes he could have had the chance to talk to him, _truly_ talk to him.   
  
This current executioner, the one who sizes up the condemned man dismissively, is nothing like either of them, or at least not _exactly_ , and not here in the now. Maybe behind it all, he feels the same, but there is so much _rage_ to dig through first that Claude can't be sure of it.   
  
Oblivious to Claude's thoughts, the bitter nostalgia rolling through his mind, Henning continues on well enough. "Some nights, it gets really rowdy towards the handlers. The night is still young, and there are a few more executions lined up, from what I've heard. Once - it was a lass with a broken bottle who it had been sent after, right? I guess it was really ornery that night - maybe not enough meat in its dinner!" Henning laughs again, and Claude grins, because it's easier and better than heaving. "Tossed the bottle right at one of the controllers!"   
  
No more time for idle conversation. After looking over the condemned man who's been patiently and quietly watching all of this with a still jittery hand, the executioner finally begins to approach him. Not charge, like he had done with the controllers, but simply... approach.  
  
Oh, there's absolutely violent intent, Claude can tell _that_ much. Front row privilege comes in handy once again, allowing him to see the way the executioner's claws flex at his sides, and the curl of his lip over fangs. But he's not charging. He's not unleashing his anger on the criminal.   
  
After all the time he's clearly been forced into all of this, and he can still discern between his captors and those he's forced to kill. Somehow, that only makes Claude feel worse.   
  
The condemned man's features are a little more difficult to make out from this distance. Not a surprise, considering he's much smaller than his opponent. Claude thinks he can make out a slight jerk and twitch of his jaw.  
  
Maybe he was hoping that the executioner would charge at him like he did with the controllers. For a man with an old injured leg, it's easier to play patient, to dodge a sudden overpowered attack and strike at the back of someone. Claude can't tell if the executioner knows and understands this, or if he just doesn't find much need to go all out on someone already permanently injured.   
  
Someone only a little under six feet tall versus someone far over eight. It's not exactly the best of match ups, even with the extra reach the condemned man's weapon provides him. No one seems to know that better than the man himself as he sizes up the executioner properly before he steels himself.  
  
He ends up performing the starting move, as the executioner clearly has little interest in it, and it's also not a surprise that he tries to be clever about it. A feint - an apparent swing towards the executioner's head, only to pull back and twist further down to the much larger and easier target that is the torso.   
  
But Claude could have told anyone from the very start that it wouldn't have worked. Not because it's not _generally_ a good idea in a fight, because it is. Not because the man isn't a good fighter, because the way he handles the poker says otherwise. Not because voa are generally tougher and stronger and bigger than humans, although that's true and simply isn't always a deciding factor.   
  
No, the reason it doesn't work is because while this might might be the condemned man's first time in the execution ring, same _cannot_ be said of the executioner. He catches the poker as it swings towards his sides, an attempt at crumpling him to the ground. Claude's fingers twitch, wishing he had a slightly better position to see his expression. All he can see, however, is the way the executioner's entire body tenses and twists, and how he yanks the poker along.   
  
A situation like this has no good options. Letting go of the poker means surrendering the only weapon this man is ever going to get his hands on in the execution ring. Going with it means hitting the ground and being in a vulnerable position. Either isn't _great_.... but in that one moment, old guard training apparently shines through, and Claude watches the man be thrown along with the poker. Behind him, he thinks he hears a long low whistle of sympathy as the man hits the ground, and the grimace on his face can be seen even from this distance.   
  
No time to recover, however. This is apparently enough for the executioner to decide that he's sick of this nonsense, regardless on how innocent he might personally find the man before him. He whirls around, snarling again, and there's a sliver of blue - Claude feels something in his stomach clench. Something old, something he'd never really forgotten, but had simply never been at the forefront of his mind.  
  
His attention is jerked back to the match down below. While he might be dealing with a bum leg, that's not stopping their condemned fighter from doing his damnedest. As the executioner lunges for him, he rolls out of the way, and digs the poker into the ground to help give him leverage, or a push, or whatever else he needs at any given time as he deals with the enraged and captive voa before him. Even with that show of skill, however, Claude is expecting it to be a done deal, over in only a matter of seconds.  
  
But... it doesn't, to his surprise. For whatever reason, the condemned man manages to keep the executioner at bay. Around Claude, all the gasps and calls and occasional shrieks at particularly close calls seem so deafening as to be utterly silent. He ignores it all as best he can, searching out just what is happening between the two combatants. The executioner is healthy, quick, and strong, obviously, so he has all of that going for him. This is just one more execution match in a long string of them, Claude is sure. So what...?   
  
He's experienced in his own way too, Claude supposes, though he doubts that the man has ever been up against a voa. Even with a disabled leg, he knows how to move around it, clearly having had to deal with it for a while now. He makes smart choices with the poker, strong attacks from what Claude can see at the distance he's at. Yet it just doesn't seem to be _enough_ , by his estimate.   
  
Around him, the crowd only seems to grow more animated the longer the match goes on, whether crying out in excitement or impatience or sometimes both. Claude wonders if any of them realize what's going on, if they understand that something is just a little off for this match.  
  
Are they willing to brush aside any disparities because they see the executioner as only a beast as mindless as he surely must be soulless? Are they truly so willing to believe that a former guard is really skilled enough to handle something even they would shy away from? Claude wishes he could ask. He knows better than to do so.   
  
All he can do, as he has done for so many years, is seek out his own answers to his own questions, and he does that by watching. It takes a little bit, but knowing that the executioner is so quick after that display earlier, with the controllers? Well, that had already told him that the executioner isn't using his full abilities. It's just a matter of figuring out _why_.   
  
Claude figures it out, or at least he thinks he does, after a few minutes. It's a subtle detail, which in hindsight might explain a few things. Mainly, it explains why no one else has picked up on the disparity.  
  
Some things can only be found if you really _try_ to look for them. No one here - not the controllers, not the guards, not the people in the audience - are. None of them think to look, because they do not think they _have to_.  
  
A part of him kind of wants to laugh about it, honestly. Prejudice really is an incredibly blinding thing. It's almost made all the more ironic by the fact that he has no doubt in his soul that the church claims that "demons" are wicked and clever things that try to tempt good and righteous humans, and yet they can't recognize actual shows of cleverness.   
  
It's practice. The entire match is simply, for the executioner, a way to practice his fighting. Claude picks up on it because of how the executioner reacts. To a lot of things, he seems used to them, and dodges or blocks them appropriately, often with a snap of his teeth. For someone who has seen this ring for years, gone against so many of varying combat ability... it's not surprising.  
  
Yet sometimes... sometimes his opponent surprises him. Uses a technique or moves in a certain way, and the poker slices through an arm or jabs through his legs. They don't look to be serious wounds, far as Claude can tell, but they still must hurt... Certainly the voa is bleeding a not small amount, even if not yet lethal.   
  
But he just... doesn't care. All he does is focus on his opponent, ears twitching with every little surprise or interesting move. Maybe it's because he prioritizes the ability to learn something over his own well-being. Or maybe there's nothing about his well-being that he cares about.   
  
Claude thinks he can understand that.   
  
There is only so much that can apparently be learned from fighting with this particular condemned soul, unfortunately for that man. Soon, perhaps from the pain or perhaps from the impatience or any other number of reasons, the executioner snaps. Claude means this both metaphorically and literally. Baring those fearsome fangs, the executionar slams one large foot into the condemned's stomach.   
  
Once again, the crowd goes wild. The man bounces across the ground to the middle of the arena once again, in a fight that has taken him just about the entire area of it. Desperately, he tries to push himself up again, swings the poker out -   
  
No use. The executioner is on him in the blink of an eye. At too close a range, it's impossible to use the poker to its full potential as a weapon... and with how the executioner lunges towards the man, head down low and mouth open wide, it's definitely far too late.   
  
All around Claude, the crowd roars, and gasps, and cheers. He thinks he can even see more than a few people hide their eyes, as though this is not exactly what they came to see: the brutal end to a man's life. Claude doesn't hide his face, his eyes. He may not have come here to see this, but he is here _regardless_. And so he watches.   
  
It is the least he can do.   
  
The executioner's mouth fits so horrifically snugly against the man's throat, teeth sinking past flesh and piercing all the arteries and muscles that lay there. This is not the first time Claude has seen a man die; often he's seen men die at much closer range than this as much as he tries to avoid it.  
  
It's still.... so miserable to see, however. Every little bit of it. The wretched jerk and weak grasping of a dying body, eyes so wide that he nearly thinks he can see the whites of them at even this distance, so much _blood_ dripping down in far greater quantities than anything the executioner has lost... It's terrible.  
  
Claude almost thinks there may not be much worse to see for the rest of his night, hell, the rest of his stay, and he's already thinking of what sort of job he should take next just for an excuse to leave this city...  
  
The executioner turns his head, still holding the man's neck inbetween his teeth, and he looks at the gathered crowd.   
  
He looks at Claude.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Once upon a time, Khalid used to think that he hated the dining halls of his home the most. Those were the places where he was always being _watched_ , with nowhere to escape to. Even at his young age - younger, back then - he had understood that the eyes which often gazed upon him were more malevolent than not. There hadn't been any way for him to escape understanding _why_ , either. They envied his position, or they thought he of all people did not deserve it. Sometimes they simply thought him an easy mark for his young age and short size.   
  
For that reason, Khalid often found himself preferring the libraries of his father, where words had been gathered from the lips of storytellers and messengers from all over their land, or the stables where he would not learn to ride for a very long time. Those places, and many others, had been his favorite places.   
  
Nowadays, he knows better. He knows there are far worse places than he could have ever imagined, and he thinks this foreign church, with the orphanage he had been shoved into, he thinks it might be the worst he has experienced _yet_.   
  
There are the major things, of course. This is not his home, because they had forcibly taken him from it. The adults here - well, he's used to adults back home thinking him a brat and a fool as well.  
  
He's always been too clever and too curious and never really thought he should just _automatically_ give someone his respect. That part is nothing new. Yet it is the _reasoning_ behind it that is new, that scrapes against his skin, because not only should he give them respect and deference as a child, but as _Almyran_.   
  
All of them, children who the church has laid claim to one way or another, are beneath the adults... but it does not take Khalid long to understand that he is viewed as belonging even lower than that.   
  
What adults believe is dripped down to the children, and so he finds no sanctuary with his fellow peers, either. Those contribute to some of the minor things - or, at least, minor in comparison.  
  
Bullying, for example, by the other children. His teachers and caretakers give him harsher punishments while turning the other way when it comes to anyone else. All of that is bad enough, but he has to deal with the imposing walls that loom over him as well, leaving him feeling perpetually trapped. It seems like everywhere he turns, there are the statues watching him with eyes that cannot see.   
  
Also, the food is terrible almost every single day, and he hates it.   
  
There's no way to fight this. Not when he's just one boy. So Khalid hoards, instead.  
  
He writes down things in Almyran, all sorts of things, from the preaching that these adults impart upon him every day, to old fairy tales that he remembers hearing from his mother, tales from his father, rumors he hears around the schoolyard. He writes down journal entries detailing his day, and the things he's learned whether he's liked them or not. Carefully, he starts to ferret out what hiding places actually hide things, that the adults never think to find, and takes only the utmost care in establishing their safety before he tucks away any of his secrets.   
  
A lot of the time, he just burns the scraps of paper in torches, or fireplaces, or by candle, until they're nothing but shriveled up pieces of ash.   
  
Dreams are a lot safer. The church cannot touch intangible things, no matter how much he's sure they wish they could. Dominion over emotion, over thought, over one's very soul? Even at his young age, Khalid feels his mouth scrunch up at the very _idea_.  
  
Still, it works out for him. As much as he practices the words with ink to paper, he practices the words as well, more often not with his tongue but his mind. More often, he thinks of how he will change everything, one day. He just has to hold out, for one day.   
  
That would be enough, he likes to think. That would keep him going until he could escape this place, even if it would hurt, in the loneliness of such a thing. But there's good news:   
  
He's not alone.   
  
Carefully, Khalid glances down the hallways before he slips down the length of one in particular. There is a door that he is not supposed to go in, a door that no child is supposed to enter. He can still remember the achingly long sermon that the priest gave them in order to drill it in that it is Forbidden, capital "f".  
  
And for the intrepid child that refuses to "rightly" listen to their elders, the door is locked. The only one who holds the key is one of the senior nuns. That's enough to deter most kids.  
  
What Khalid's _elders_ don't know is that the lock shows its age, if you wiggle the handle and press against the door in just the right way. Khalid doesn't know how long it's been like that, but in some ways it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that it works out for him.   
  
It works out for his best friend in this cold and stifling place, too. The halls leading to his room go quite a ways, with the first one being long, and the next one going down, but length is really all that separates the two of them. In one way, that makes this all very simple.  
  
On the other hand, Khalid never fails to make his steps as light and quick as possible as he hustles down the dim halls where no lanterns have been lit. A lot of the hallway above and below are used as extra storage, he _thinks_ , and he keeps track of where every box or sack is in case he needs to duck behind something.   
  
A lot of the adults don't go down here, and the ones that do seem to come fairly regularly. As in, three times a day when everything is going normally. Khalid likes to think he's memorized the times when they visit his best friend pretty well. He also knows that won't keep him completely safe from surprises. Best to be prepared. Just in case.  
  
He's already had to crouch behind a box and hold his breath once before, curled up into the tightest ball he could possibly make himself as the nun had walked on by. Fortunately for him, the only looking down the adults of this church seem to engage in is when they're being smug and superior.   
  
That they don't do so regularly is, Khalid suspects, a part of their problem.   
  
Luck is on his side today, however. There's not the faintest whisper or scuff of another person down the hallway. Not besides the one he's down here for in the first place. While most of the hallway is dim, light can be seen towards a small spot somewhere in the middle.  
  
It comes from a little barred window in a sturdy door, one that has a thick wooden slat in front of it that ensures the person inside won't somehow just... bust the door down. Khalid doesn't know why they have to go to such great lengths, honestly.   
  
Dimitri has never tried to bust the door down in all the times that he's known him, after all.   
  
The window might be higher than Khalid is tall. However, it's not higher than he can _jump_. Finally at the one place he can feel at ease at, Khalid crouches down for the best he can force out of his body. He's good at jumping, had to get good at it in Almyra where running was often a more sensible option in his opinion than trying to win a fight he was outnumbered in.  
  
So he manages to leap just high enough to wrap his fingers around the bars of the little window, feet braced against wood. Against his knees, the wooden plank keeping it shut digs against him. He can hear feet against the floor even before he grins into the room with a cheery, "Hey, Dimitri!"   
  
Already, Dimitri is running towards him, although there's not much space to run in his little room. He's good at jumping too, leaping upwards to mirror the exact same position Khalid is in. It's probably easier on his end, 'tho. No bar on the inside of the door. Dimitri's expression is stretched in a wide grin to mirror Khalid's own. "Hey, Claude!"   
  
Claude, not Khalid. This time, it's his own choice that he had introduced himself that way to Dimitri, ages ago when he had first grown curious as to what was hidden behind the door that the adults so badly didn't want him to see.  
  
The adults call him "Claude" because it's easier for them to say. They call him "Claude" because they find his other name filthy, even though something eternal never would be. He introduced _himself_ as Claude to the wide eyed boy behind the bars because it had seemed safer, when he hadn't known him and everything strange to him had seemed a potential threat.   
  
Behind the bars, Dimitri just smiles at him, and adjusts his grip on the bars so that he can hold on with just one hand. "Hands, right?" he asks, sliding his now free one through the bars. There's just barely enough room, because Dimitri is a pretty big kid, and Khalid has never thought himself _particularly_ short.   
  
Khalid smiles back. "Yeah, we'll hold hands today too," he tells him before he adjusts his own body in order to accept that outstretched hand. One day, he tells himself as their fingers slot neatly between one another like they're the same person.  
  
One day, him and Dimitri will escape this place, and they'll run into wide fields and untamed forests far far away, and they'll find towns with color and smiling unmarred by superiority, and he'll turn to Dimitri and he'll tell him his _real_ name. It's a promise Khalid makes to himself every day that he stores inside his chest, like he cradles his dreams safe in his head.   
  
Better to think of those things than the depressing reality. Better to see the way Dimitri smiles as he tests his grip against Claude's hand in fascination of their differences.   
  
"Were you happy today?" Dimitri asks, the words still a little clumsy and awkward in his mouth. Some of the syllables and sounds don't form quite right for him. They're mismatched to the cadence and noises that are so much more common back wherever he's from. Still, he seems happy to try, happy to mimic the noises back at Khalid when they are made to him. They've made it a game between them, pointing at things and explaining what they are, or clumsily figuring out how sentences work.   
  
Honestly, Khalid isn't _entirely_ sure he's getting all the words or sentence structures right. There's only so much that two children can do on their own without proper lessons. Still, he feels pretty confident regardless.  
  
More than confident, he enjoys it. A lot of the games that are played here in the church are more physical games, and those aren't bad, not exactly. It's just that they're the kind of games that require another person, a game of two and never of one. He is still an outsider for those kinds of games, the only "one" in the classroom or the yard. Thus, those kinds of games aren't for him.   
  
Elsewhere, him and Dimitri could make do with one another. Here, Dimitri is _forced_ to be "one" himself; Khalid has never caught any gossip or sight of him stepping out of this room, this prison cell that masquerades as a guest room.  
  
So they still cannot play the games other children play. All they can do is make do with this. "Make do" isn't really the right word, honestly.... because it's his favorite kind of game. A game that makes him think, and figure things out, and be with one of his favorite people in the entire world.   
  
So, honestly, could he give any other reply to Dimitri besides squeezing his hand? "I am happy because I'm with you," he says, laugh carefully quiet. Contentment fills him Dimitri's bright smile. He doesn't think his friend quite gets the entirety of that sentence, not exactly. Still, he knows the first three words, and the last, so he figures it out well enough. Probalby "We're gonna play again today for a long time, okay?"   
  
That one, Dimitri gets maybe half, he thinks. That's fine. It's part of the game: trying to repeat what he's said in whatever language it is that Dimitri speaks. Then, both of them fumble through it together.  
  
There are a lot of words Khalid still doesn't know, in this language and Dimitri's... but he'll learn it all, one day. One day, they'll look up at open skies with no oppressive spires piercing up into them. One day, he'll ride a horse across vast planes, and show Dimitri how, too.   
  
Khalid reminds himself all of this, keeps his dream close, and adds one more to it as he rubs his thumb against the side of Dimitri's fingers. Their hands are so different. In fact, both of them are so different from each other, but they are united and the same in their differences as well.  
  
There are no other people in this entire church who are like the two of them. Probably there are no other people in this entire city, although Khalid has to admit that it's not as if he's been able to explore all of it. Perhaps if he'd had that freedom, he would have had so much more to investigate out there instead of being forced to turn his attentions inwards.   
  
Yet a part of him feels for certain that there is no other Almyran in the city, and he would never find one. Who he _has_ found... that's Dimitri.   
  
No one in this city has Khalid's kind of dark curly hair, not exactly, nor the warm shade from his eyes. In that same way, no one has Dimitri's soft golden fur that tickles at Khalid's skin whenever he holds his hand. Nor do they have those large expressive ears which twitch along the side of his head.  
  
No one has a name like Khalid has heard all his life back home in Almyra, or a name like his father's, or his many brothers. No one has a tail like Dimitri does, mostly still save for when it moves how he moves, perfectly posed to stay out of his way and mindful of the space around him.   
  
No one has _exactly_ Khalid's particular shade of brown skin, although he'd seen a few different shades back home, and has seen many more different ones since being taken to this city.   
  
No one has Dimitri's blue eyes. Brilliant blue like the sky that Khalid loves so much. Bright and deep and stretching all the way around as though someone had placed pieces of the noon sky into his face when he had been born, leaving behind not a trace of black pupil or white schlera.   
  
  
  
  
  
Blue. Brilliant. Deep. Bright. Claude has rode under that same sky so many times, now A sky untouched by anything, a sky that connects every single person in existence whether they're alive or dead.  
  
Yet every time he had a long stretch of road or plain before him, he had looked up at it and thought of one boy in particular. That shade of blue... is what he'll always connect to him. To that boy who had always smiled so excitedly at him behind bars and reached for him every time without fail.   
  
Dimitri looks up at his section of seats, and bites down on the man's neck.   
  
Claude stops breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, IMMENSE gratitude to the pair of artists I had the pleasure of working alongside for my first big bang event! It was a new experience for me and I could not have asked for a better set of artists to work with. Go ahead and check them out if you don't know them already: 
> 
> https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist  
> https://twitter.com/Rihamsterr
> 
> Secondly, this entire setting is taken from the incredible animatic series "Escape From Divinity" by ToastyGlow, primarily the video that started it all and which I beg you to go watch: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0s0E_WsqvQ
> 
> Seriously. Watch this. Toasty is an incredible artist, and every bit of framing and timing in this animatic to FoB's "Church" is absolutely perfect. If you go to Toasty's social media about all of this (like tumblr), you'll find an incredible amount of worldbuilding to go along with all of this too. Toasty is a great artist you should support in any way possible. 
> 
> It was such fun worldbuilding, and felt like such a relevant application to a certain ship Lymmea was trying to get me into at the time, that we sort of.... ended up roleplaying it! Because that's how this whole thing started: 
> 
> Me, before I had even watched a single walkthrough video on FE3H
> 
> Lymmea, mildly feral from desire to RP this ship I accidentally introduced them to
> 
> That video 
> 
> And our RP discord
> 
> This wasn't really *started* with the intent of making it a fic one day, which explains why a lot of this is rather self indulgent nonsense hitting some of the same beats/tropes as the video, ha ha. We really just wanted to play in the same sandbox, and fiddle with some of the same issues brought up, and maybe vent a little through the characters as well. 
> 
> However, I started to really like some of the scenes or phrases me and Lymmea wrote together, and I really wanted to share that with other people. I love Lymmea's Claude especially, and wanted others to love their Claude too. So I decided to put this on the shelf as a project I would get to at some point or another. "Some point (or another)" turned out to come sooner than expected, as people who read my self indulgent coffee shop AU V3 suggest I check out the DMCL Big Bang. Maybe join it. And, well, the only project on the idea shelf I had that would count for a Big Bang's length was this, and sooo.... Here we are! The first part in what will eventually become a series (and thus branch out much more from the original EFD animatic).
> 
> While this is based on me and Lymmea's RP, I did put a lot of work into making it a more coherent and typical kind of fic. This includes reworking our RP exchanges and then just... adding shit wholecloth, lmao. You see, when me and Lymmea RP'd, we mostly just focused on their interactions, and then handwaved anything else, or skipped over stuff. Most of the time, in this fic, when you read them having a direct conversation, that was the RP part we did. 
> 
> But other stuff happens outside of their interactions - Claude does work, Dimitri goes stir crazy, and life moves on. So for those, I wrote things out fully. 
> 
> This first chapter is one of those wholecloth moments, unsurprisingly, since me and Callie sort of had that "we're just talking and then whoops this is RP" phase, ha ha. I hope you enjoy what becomes of it. 
> 
> The cover art that was done here is a product of Ri's wonderful talent! So again, please make sure to check out that twitter and comment on this when it's posted up there!
> 
> Lyrics from this chapter title are from the song that started it all: 
> 
> Oh, the things that you do in the  
> Name of what you love  
> You are doomed but just enough


	2. Burn Baby Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude sneaks down to talk with Dimitri, and makes a decision that will change everything.

The night air is cool when they drag him back to his cell. There's no gentleness in the way they jab him in, despite his victory or the wounds freshly healed from their human magic.  
  
Dimitri is used to such treatment, honestly. The humans do not trust him to walk obediently in, because of course he wouldn't. Yet they do not dare get any closer to him than they absolutely must, and with his limbs bound. It is how they escort him from their killing grounds - ropes of light forcing his arms behind his back, chains of the very same which force his feet to stay close together, a gag pulled tightly so that his fangs may not reach their deserving throats. When they demand he move, they do so with their long weapons, drawn out from light and ink, jabbing into his spine with blunt ends or whacked viciously into the back of his legs.   
  
So arrogant and cruel when they put themselves into a position where he cannot retaliate against them. So _superior_.   
  
It's the same position, it's the same movements, that they use when they force him into his cell. Their true weakness reveals itself in how they slam shut the cell door. Their magic, no matter how physical it may be when it hits or binds him, requires a direct line in order to be effective. It cannot go through walls, nor through the pure metal of his bars. At least, it cannot do so in the manner that they use it, where their powers are transmitted through their tattoos.   
  
So they have to act quickly when they put him into his cell. Two of their number are always waiting at the door: one to keep it open and then slam it shut lightning quick, the other to slam down the bar over it. That's the bare minimum they feel they must do before they can quickly attend to the other locks on his door. There's only two. That must be enough, by their estimate.   
  
It is no small source of bitterness to him that they are, in this matter, right.   
  
After that... After that, he is left alone, and Dimitri curls into a corner to duly and dully look over his own body. There's nothing else to do. No human will interrupt him for the rest of the night. He knows that for a fact because that has been fact for years, now.  
  
How many years, he's not certain. Time has lost all meaning to him. He knows that he was a child in this place, once, and then an adolescent, and now he is an adult. He knows that some things always follow a set schedule, which this night too will follow. He knows that the humans never feed him after a killing night, as though they have mistaken their murder as him feasting.   
  
Perhaps they do. Dimitri would not be surprised if he learned this to be the case. After all, they treat him as though he is some beast, and have for many years now. He only need glance over his cell to be reminded of it. While he thinks of it as a _cell_ , as though that will allow him to retain some semblance of being a _person_ , he knows that it is more a _cage_ than anything else.   
  
At least it is a large space. He supposes he should be _grateful_ that he has that much. His cage, his prison, lays within an enormous courtyard of some sort, deep within a nest of buildings that he has come to loathe.  
  
The humans here use the courtyard for a variety of reasons, he's come to find. Some of them use it to meditate, seeking nonsense answers in what they believe to matter, although Dimitri believes it matters very little. Others reliably clean it, of dirt and leaves and snow depending on the seasons, and he thinks this might be considered a punishment. Only youth are sent to clean this area, and many of them glance at him in silent panic as they rush to do their job quickly, as though he can do nothing trapped where he is.   
  
Most of the time, however, they train here, and those are often adults with the occasional adolescent. They do not glance at him anywhere _near_ as often as the children do. Instead they focus on sparring with one another, or practice the forms that go into their martial arts whether with fist or brilliant glowing weapon.  
  
Dimitri watches sometimes, often because it is the only thing he has to do. He may see some of these people, besides, down in the killing ring. Not _often_ , but, occasionally. With that in mind... it never hurts to understand the way they fight.  
  
He wonders if they ever realize the mistake they make, so boldly practicing before his cell, if that terror and understanding strikes their heart right before his claws strike their body.  
  
It doesn't matter in the end, he supposes. The point is that the courtyard is large, in width and length both, and thus so is his cell to some degree. The bars which hold him go across the entire width of the place. A metal ceiling blocks him from a clear view of the sky and any chance of escape.  
  
There is nothing for him, save a chamber pot in one of the only real corners he has, and a pile of ragged blankets that this place has bothered to give him. They can barely be called beds, or warmth, or comfort... although he has to grudgingly admit that they give him thicker ones come the colder months. If not for his fur, he wonders if he would have died months ago. Years ago.  
  
There is more than enough room for him to run in his cell, but he is too tired from all of his fights to want for it. He could go to sleep in his pile of rags, but he has too much energy still burning in his veins for sleep. So Dimitri looks over himself, and tries to ignore his own senses.  
  
It's all he can do, after all. Eventually, he knows he will be forced to pay attention. He'll have to acknowledge the voice tugging at the edges of his hearing, and the figures he can see from the corner of his eyes. Same as it is so many nights. Same as what always happens during nights like _this_.  
  
Better to occupy his mind how he can, and so he looks over the area where, only a few hours prior, a long jagged cut had gone across his palm. It's gone, now. Completely and utterly. Even some of the fur has grown back, an unexpected part of his body that has regrown just like skin and blood and flesh.  
  
Dimitri turns his hand over, gaze roaming slowly over the curve of his arm. He used to think it was like time being reversed, once upon a time, when he was younger and did not fully understand the magic these people use on him to force him alive. Now, he knows better. It's simply a natural process of sorts, sped up and amplified by the powers of someone else.  
  
Dimitri clenches his claws into a fist, ignoring how they prick. Well. He says 'natural'. Yet how natural is it, really? This is not his _body_ healing in a natural way. It is someone else's magic sinking into his bones and the very meat of him, transforming it. Is this really his body anymore? Can he say it is, when they have interfered with it so much? Will it ever be his body again?  
  
_Never_. Voices scratch against the insides of his ear, incoherent static that somehow makes all the sense in the world. Dimitri closes his eyes, as though that ever helps him. He's running out of things to distract himself with, and "things" has always meant just his own self. What is he supposed to do here, now?  
  
Succumb, he supposes. It's not as though he can do much else, not besides wait and sharpen his skills. He reminds himself of that as he pushes himself upwards, taking the long trudging walk across his cell to where his blankets are piled up. One day, he'll be fortunate. One day, he'll find his chance, and.... he'll be free.  
  
It's a comforting thought, far more comforting than the blankets he curls up into, his face towards one of the far walls of his cell. There, the rough phantom of his father peers over at him with burning blue eyes that Dimitri can no longer match. The cutting words will start, soon, he's sure of it. That's how they always start. First it is the staring, accompanied by harsh whispers, and then...  
  
Initially, he dismisses the sound - a ghost of a noise, gliding against pavement and dirt. Dimitri knows how his life is, and his life says that no one bothers with him directly after an execution. That's how it is. That is how it will always be. So even though his ears twitch, Dimitri stays locked inside of his own self, not daring to look away from the miserable specter across from him. Soon, the whispers will start in full, a tidal roar crashing down onto him until the force of the wave pulls him under and he falls asleep-  
  
"Hey... Remember me?"  
  
Dimitri blinks slowly at the voice. He has to work to pull himself out from the space he had been journeying into, head moving to the side by centimeters. He only needs to move it that much. When he rests in his prison, it is always with his good eye facing the courtyard. It's safer like that, even if nothing is truly safe here.  
  
So it's easy to move his head just enough... and see the figure there, crouched right outside his cage. A figure with familiar brown skin, and dark hair, and green eyes so bright that they seem to stand out in the darkness.  
  
Familiar parts of an unfamiliar whole, with that hair swept back, and a beard slowly growing along his jaw. With baby fat lost, leaving heavier eyelids and a more defined nose.  
  
Once upon a time, he was ignorant to the true reason of his capture. Once upon a time, he thought that he had ended up in a strange place by accident, and that surely things would become clear in time as these strange humans realized he was not a threat. Everyone was inherently good in the end, weren't they?  
  
That was what his parents used to stress upon him when he was young: every person had a goodness to them, and patience and effort helped bring it out. He had believed that so strongly back then...  
  
And yet, how could he have understood the severity of the situation, the duplicity of it all? The humans had been cold and distant, but not yet _cruel_. They gave him a place to stay, a bed to sleep on, new clothes to wear - he still does not know what they did with the old ones - and regular meals three times a day. Yet more important than any of that...  
  
There had been Claude.  
  
Claude, the only other child near to his age he had ever seen. Claude with his shining eyes and playful smile and who had reached out to him through the bars. Dimitri had never entirely understood where he came from; the language barrier had been too great for that.  
  
When they'd taught one another the most basic of their disparate tongues, a struggle that had taken ages, he'd gotten a rough idea. Only a rough one. How he had understood it was that... Claude's village had burned down in a fire, and the church had taken him in. Dimitri had tried to take comfort in that, although he couldn't help the ting of guilt that came with it. How could he feel relieved at another person's tragedy?  
  
But it had given him some desperately needed hope. The church had taken in Claude, so it couldn't be a place of bad people, could it? And more importantly... _Claude_ was a part of the church. Claude, who had touched him without fear. Claude, who had clumsily learned his language and grinned when Dimitri tried to mimic _his_. Claude, who he hadn't seen since he was a child.  
  
Claude, who he had seen only a full moon or so ago.   
  
Dimitri casts a critical eye upon the haunt lingering outside of his cell. Ever since he had been first used for the church sanctioned slaughter, he had started to see Claude outside of his cell. He hadn't thought anything of it, the first time. He hadn't been _able_ to.  
  
His mind had been scattered across itself, frantic and scared and sick and so many other emotions that he couldn't distinguish them all from one another. Besides, Claude had not visited in some time, back then. Back when he was naive enough to believe that Claude was busy, or had perhaps gotten caught, scolded for shirking his duties to visit someone else.   
  
He still doesn't know what happened to Claude... but he does know, now, that Claude ceased to visit him the day he made his first kill. The day he became their "executioner", as the church calls him, when they do not use "demon" instead.  
  
That thought had occurred to him suddenly, after some months, although the suspicions had been a gradual growing thing. After all, as time passed on, the phases of the moon and the changing of the seasons, it had become clear to Dimitri that he was still growing.   
  
The Claude on the other side of his bars never changed.   
  
It's quite a difference from the man crouching there now: taller than the child in Dimitri's memories and facial hair tickling along his jaw. Yet so much of him is still the same.. Those brilliant green eyes that remind Dimitri of ribbons of light in the sky. That easygoing smile that put him at ease. The dark of his hair and the warmth in his skin.   
  
Dimitri clenches his jaw and looks away, gaze narrowed. "So my mind has taken to finding new tricks to play upon me," he mutters to himself, Voali somehow still so rusty on his tongue despite how much he's talked to himself over the years. It's the only part of himself that he has left. What else can he do? A surge of annoyance suddenly bites at the back of his tongue, knocks into his teeth. Trust his mind to make an illusion that uses his tongue in ways he can't.   
  
Another sign that it is only a trick of his mind - a _deception_ his father might have said of some things with a heavy brow and a harsh twist of his mouth. His Claude had never gotten a true handle on Voali in the time they had with one another. Certainly, he had been a quick study, but the two of them had never had the _time_ to become truly adept in each other's languages. This Claude, this whatever it is that sits so close and yet so far from him, that does not truly sit at all... Voali is too smooth from his lips, too natural and relaxed in comparison to the stiff way the words form in Dimitri's own mouth.   
  
He speaks them anyway, perhaps because it is all he has, perhaps because of plain and simple spite. "No, I imagine it is most certainly spite," he continues, tail flicking in annoyance across the dirty floor. It's just a soft mutter, a conversation of one.   
  
The thing that is Not Claude chuckles, voice deeper now but still gentle and warm. Fond. It awakens a distant ache in Dimitri, one that he resolves to firmly ignore. "You know, I think I'm missing a little bit of the conversation here," he says lightly.  
  
Dimitri cannot help stare. It was one thing for the apparition to make Voali sound natural on his _tongue_. That was a frustration all unto its own. But this... This has the _words_ to match. These are not words Dimitri can ever recall teaching Claude. He never would have figured out the right way to do some of them, or explain the way the sentence connects.   
  
Dimitri's ears flick back, and his body loosens warily despite his glare. His words, however, are still directed to no one but himself. "Nothing but a trick of the mind... The illusions it casts are getting more clever. I wonder if this is some..." He trails off, too tired to think of the proper words that could describe his state or what sort of nonsense his mind is attempting to pull over his eye.   
  
Not deterred, the Not Claude searches about the ground, and Dimitri watches him dully. Such quick and clever fingers... Claude had quick and clever fingers too. Dimitri could remember them trying to sketch things out, or flit through the air, holding tightly onto his hand-  
  
Something nudges his arm, and Dimitri blinks his way out of his own nostalgia. There's a pebble, bouncing lightly off of the ground and away from his body before it comes to a stop. "Do your hallucinations ever flick pebbles at you?" the Not Claude asks, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Dimitri's glare shifts into a flatter look. "As though _you_ did that," he says dismissively. "I know better than to mistake my own pains for what they are."  
  
Certainly, the church's healers did their job, as much as Dimitri begrudges them for it but that doesn't mean there is no pain at all in the aftermath. He is still always left exhausted whenever the healers do their work... and some times, he can still feel the injuries, although they are gone. He doesn't mean the sensation of blood sliding down his arms, clumping his fur together, leaving him rattling in his own hide. Just... the ache of them. The feeling that something isn't right.   
  
So. It's just that. It has to be that. What it _cannot_ be is Claude. The improbability of that... It would be too good to be true, no matter what else could be the reason for Claude's presence here. Dimitri has learned to temper his expectations, there. It's a learning that has him refuse to so much as entertain the possibility.   
  
So Dimitri does his best to expect nothing, and only adjusts himself in his bedding. It's not like he has anything else he could possibly be doing. "You know, my hallucinations should at least have the good grace to let me sleep in peace," he grumbles, as though he ever planned on going to sleep.   
  
"What kind of hallucinations do you have that actually listen to polite requests?" Not Claude cocks his head to the side, well aware that Dimitri hadn't been polite at all. "But c'mon, I can't just crouch here trying to convince you I'm real all night. So what's it going to take?" He holds out a hand, through the bars. "Will touching me be enough? Or should I tell you something you don't know, something your brain couldn't make up? Give you something of mine? I'm open to suggestions."  
  
Another harsh pang in his heart, one that has nothing to do with old or healed injuries. No one has put their body into his cell like this... Not knowing what he could so easily do to a bit of flesh. It's nostalgic, and he loathes it.  
  
While many illusions - hallucinations, yes, that's the proper word - have invaded his personal space before... It's never been like this before. It's never been an outright invitation like this. Never a real and proper touch. His prior Claude hallucinations have certainly always been outside of his cell, and never inside...   
  
He doesn't accept the invitation offered to him. Against what feels to be his better judgment, however, he _does_ sit up, and turn his head fully to face his apparition. Even before he speaks, that alone seems to bring more of a pep to this Not Claude's posture. "True to form, nothing but lies and empty promises as usual... If you won't let me sleep, food would be better."  
  
Taste is the one sense that hasn't let him down yet, and it feels like the best way to keep.... whatever this is away from him. Hallucinations can't provide food after all, and the church doesn't give what he really wants or needs. This way, he's sure he'll be fine. What he's so scared of, what puts every bit of hair on his body on end is... He doesn't know. Dimitri doesn't want to think about it. Either way, it makes a good line in the sand -   
  
"Hey, good idea!" What, no, _not_ a good idea - Dimitri finds himself unable to do anything but stare as Claude begins to rummage about on a belt he keeps about his waist. Dimly, it occurs to him that this Claude now wears clothing far more attractive and better cared for than what he wore when they were children. He knows nothing of leatherwork, but even a beast like him can look over at the pouch Claude raises inbetween his fingers and understand the quality of it. "I'm guessing they don't exactly overfeed you here anyway..."   
  
They do not. Dimitri's meals are regular but sparse things, with no appeal to them. From what he can tell, they believe there to be a fine line from ensuring he is a healthy slaughter beast, and him somehow breaking from his cell to tear out their throats in his sleep. He wishes it were that easy.   
  
Easy like the way Claude unwinds the opening to his pouch, and carefully begins to pull out various foods. Even from a distance, in the dark of night, Dimitri can tell that they are far more interesting than what the church feeds him regularly. Almost against his will, his nose twitches to take in the scents that he can smell even from where he sits far away from the cages.  
  
There's meat - yes, he can see it now in Claude's hand, dried carefully and somehow mingled with berries. Those, he can't see so easily, but his nose can pick up that sweet and tart scent. A couple of small loaves of bread are also pulled out, with something inside of them that he can't quite identify whether by eye or nose.   
  
Claude places some of the dry meat on the bread, and then once again slides his offered hand through the bars. "They're not exactly _delicacies_ or anything," he explains, "but they make good rations, even if the nuts are kind of hard on the jaw - or, you know what?" He grins, so carefree. The nostalgia, the mixing of past and present, is dizzying. "I don't think you'll have a problem with that. Well, while they might last a while and nourish the body, I still would have brought you something nicer if I was expecting things to turn out this way. I just wasn't sure what kind of reception I'd be getting..."   
  
He trails off, those too bright green eyes watching Dimitri. They watch Dimitri stay right where he is, the slow uncurling of his body, claws tense, haunches prepared to do anything he might need them to. There's a lot of room in his cage that he could use, to pace or stand tall or anything at all, but Dimitri doesn't use it. This feels as though... it's a trap. As though he's going to reach out and -   
  
"Relax, Dimitri." Claude's voice is calm, patient. He waits, no rush apparent in his eyes or in his body. He's still holding out the bread. "Even if I was inclined to bite, you definitely bite harder than I do. Besides, why would I want to mess with you?"  
  
Dimitri convinces his body to continue uncurling from its tense position. He doesn't walk like he normally would, but reaches out towards the ground with the tips of his claws. There's no danger waiting for him with just a single step. He knows that, logically. Yet he can't pull himself out of that paranoia, that tense fear wrapped tight around his heart. So he goes carefully, claw first, footstep after, always prepared for... _something_.   
  
Something does not come. Dimitri reaches the bars of his cell, and crouches there opposite where Claude does before him. This close... Dimitri has known for a long while that he had grown. He had always known, even before all of this, in a life that does now no longer seem to be his own, that voa are generally bigger than most humans. It had just... never been so clear between him and Claude, when they were children. He had been a little taller than his human friend, yes, but not by a huge amount.   
  
...He's so small. Every bit of him, as he nonetheless crouches before Dimitri's much more massive form and continues to hold out his small hand.   
  
There was a question. Dimitri remembers to finally answer it, uncaring of the minutes that have passed by since then. "No one has deigned to give me the answers to questions such as those." He curls his lip over one fang in disgust.  
  
Of course, despite what he shows on his face... In the end, he still ends up reaching forward. Where Claude is small, the food he carries with him is also small, at least in comparison to Dimitri. Or perhaps it's simply this portion... Or maybe he is too concerned with his own size, strength that could so easily smash the food he delicately picks up inbetween his claws.   
  
It's so... _strange_ to have something in his hands again, and Dimitri pauses, just for a moment. He touches himself, the walls and bars of his cage, cheap dishes that feed to him cheap food, and his blankets. Other people falling apart to his grip or his claws or his teeth... They are all a given. But a simple piece of bread...   
  
Dimitri doesn't let himself think much on it for very long. After just that brief second of introspection, he shoves the entire thing - bread and meat and everything in it - into his mouth. With one bite alone, he can feel his fangs crunch through something hard - nuts? Dimitri curls in on himself as he crouches there, chewing and chewing for what is the most flavor he thinks he's had in his mouth in _years_.  
  
Most of his meals have been bland soups or stews or porridges with equally atrocious white bread. Occasionally, he's been thrown a thick bone from some sort of animal, as though he were some sort of dog. They usually stop for a while when he inevitably chucks it at someone's head during the middle of training.   
  
In contrast, the bread that Claude has given him is... It's so much more flavorful than that. There's a different depth to it, something that reminds him of the pleasant smell which comes after the rain, and he's pleasantly surprised when he chews through something in the bread itself. It's dry, like everything else, but there's a faint bitterness. Greedily, he continues to chew, trying to figure out the various different flavors that seem to burst forth each time. Nuts and berries from the meat, vegetables in the bread -   
  
Before he knows it, he's gone through the meager little offering ,and realizes how he's curled up with his hands at his mouth to greedily ensure no crumbs fell from his mouth. Across from him, Claude still sits with a simple little grin on his face. Dimitri grinds his tongue against his fangs and stares back.  
  
This means... that Claude truly is here, now. The Claude he had known as a child, back when he had no idea of just what kind of fate would await him. They're both different now, however.... and him, especially. Is Claude really not... _afraid_ of him, even a little, with what he has become?   
  
"You can't tell me you think _that's_ a hallucination," Claude says, his voice knocking Dimitri out of his mind. Blinking, he refocuses back to his old friend. Claude is still smiling, even under the renewed attention. "A hallucination would probably have the decency to taste better."   
  
Playful and light... just like when they were children, when he would always look forward to the sight of sunlight illuminating Claude's smile through the bars of his door. The scene is very different now, although bars divide them still. Dimitri doesn't answer immediately, instead slowly looking over Claude with his one good eye.  
  
Now that he knows for a fact that he's actually _real_ , existing and alive and directly in front of his cell, all the little details... seem to matter more. He had always wondered what had happened to Claude, when he had been taken away from his room to be given a cage instead, to become an executioner proper. Whatever happened on Claude's end... he seems to be doing well for himself. He looks healthy. His clothing and equipment are good, although Dimitri does not miss the tell-tale red that is incorporated into _much_ of his outfit.   
  
Well. In the end, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. There were only really two options, when he thinks about it, and he can only be glad that Claude is not _dead_. Then again, maybe that would be the kinder route.   
  
"What do you want?" he asks, voice quiet and hoarse - a threat implicit in his words even when he does not consciously intend it. Better safe than sorry, better to always be wary and prepared to go on the offensive. After all, this is still too good to be true, even with Claude alive and not merely a figment of torture brought about by his own mind. And if it's too good to be true... Then there has to be a catch.   
  
For what purpose, he has no idea, but he has had so little idea on why most of his life has happened up until this point. What is one more thing to the long list of miseries that have made up his existence?   
  
"To see my old friend," Claude answers simply, still whispering quietly so that his voice doesn't echo throughout the courtyard. He's still smiling, but it's... different. It is a softer smile, now. Almost.... sad. Dimitri can't entirely understand it, but that is the emotion on Claude's face, hanging from his lips and shining in his eyes. "They really did a number on you after they sent me away, didn't they?"  
  
Such a simple reason. It can't be true. "And that's all?" It's more accusation than question, and Dimitri finally lowers his hands from his face in order to bare his fangs. In the darkness, it's impossible to tell if it's more a manic smile or a pained grimace. Or maybe it's only impossible to tell for himself. "So you're only here of your own volition, to disappear as much of any of my own specters afterwards?" As he speaks, he presses closer to the bars until he's looming over Claude. It's hard to stop himself from bristling. Dimitri doesn't think he wants to. "Why return now?"   
  
Most humans shy away when he does this, when he reminds them of how big he is, how sharp his claws are, how easily he can break bone inbetween his teeth. Claude does not pull away. He stays right where he is, meeting Dimitri's gaze with those shining green eyes of his. "I didn't know where you were any sooner than when I found you here." Still quiet. Somehow, his voice sounds quieter, although Dimitri's ears have not picked up anything of the sort.   
  
Quiet, and patient, and too _calm_.   
  
While Dimitri tries to reconcile what has happened in the past to what is happening in his present, Claude continues. "When they found out that I was seeing you so much, they sent me away, you know. It's suspicious to them for a kid to spend so much time around a voa. Or maybe it would have been suspicious no matter my age, unless I were one of the controllers. After that, there was no way that I could ask about any voa - about demons, or executioners, even as I became an adult."   
  
It should be clear, at this point, that Dimitri holds no _fondness_ for humans anymore. When he's more honest with himself, Dimitri concedes that being dead might have been a favor to him instead of this life he claims to lead. It's a desire whose strength ebbs and flows within him, changing from day to day. Despite that desire, however, no matter its strengths, Dimitri doesn't succumb to it. Not just yet. While he may be able to do very little in his current situation, a metaphorical collar wrapped around his throat that chokes him if he strays too far, he is still determined to do _something_.   
  
One of these days, he's going to bite the hand that feeds, tear it clean off... and he and Claude _both_ know that he is deciding if the human in front of him right now is one of the fingers.   
  
At least, he _thinks_ that Claude knows that. The differences between them are too great, and Dimitri knows his intentions have been made perfectly clear... haven't they? And yet all that happens is that Claude loses that smile of his as he looks upon Dimitri... but not that soft, sad look in his eye. "I'm sorry it took me so long, and that I couldn't help you any. But I don't know what I could have done differently that would have helped you. These days, they've assigned me my own task, too... and, besides, as far as I knew, you could have been dead."   
  
"I'm sure they have," Dimitri growls, a low sounds that rolls up from the twisting of his stomach. Claude's red had given away that detail almost immediately. "Your own task that keeps you busy right as we speak, I'm certain."  
  
It's another accusation, more upfront this time to show that he won't be so easily tricked. Perhaps it is not an elegant accusation, but Dimitri makes it regardless. Because... There has to be a reason for why Claude is here. Why Claude is here after all this time, long after Dimitri has surrendered to his role as executioner for the time being.   
  
Almost more than that, he's surrendered to the fact that there is no help in this city for him. If it is available, then it would never be given to him, and that.... that is a fact of his life, like so many other miserable facts. This race turned its back on him a long time ago, and he knows that they will keep it that way. That is true, he is _sure_ , of this person right before him as well.  
  
It doesn't matter that they were once friends... That, once upon a time, they clumsily exchanged words and childish translations with one another with only a door between them. It had seemed such a temporary and simple obstacle to pass, one day...   
  
But that was so very long ago. What does he know of this man who sits before him with those green eyes from his childhood, but the red clothing that belongs to those who have seen fit to use him as nothing more than a tool for their bloody deeds?   
  
Ugh. Disdain and disgust curl in his stomach - or at least that is what he chooses to believe are the emotions there. Certainly, he makes sure that the right ones drip from his voice as he narrows his eye down at Claude, silent despite Dimitri's accusation. "Yet regardless of your reasons for being here, you cannot _help_ me even now. Leave, so that I may rest for once, before I force you to begone from my presence one way or the other." He can reach through the bars, after all. It is why the humans of this church take such care when even so much as feeding him.   
  
Claude.... does not leave. He does not so much as lean back. Something itches at the back of Dimitri's neck, jerks anxiously in the pit of his stomach. He has to know. He has to be aware of how easily Dimitri could just reach out, grab him, tear him limb from limb even with the limited space Dimitri has. He can't just - this isn't something like _trust_ , he isn't something that -   
  
"I didn't expect you to hate me so much for something I couldn't control," Claude sighs, swinging Dimitri's attention back to him. He raises one hand, fingers running through his hair. It used to be looser, once. Curlier, Dimitri thinks, although he is always wondering about his own memories nowadays. This change is... "But...I guess under the circumstances, with everything they've put you through, you had to blame someone. And I might not have had it easy, but I definitely can't pretend I've had it as bad as you, so I guess some resentment's justified." So he gets it now. So he's going to get up, and leave, and realize this is a lost cause -   
  
Claude smiles. "But really, Dimitri!" He smiles a wide smile, winking and raising a finger to his lips and _staying_. "They had to drag me away the first time! Do you think I'll abandon you by choice now?" he says, as if he isn't casually just - _tossing away_ every single reason that he should be _gone_.  
  
He's just ignoring how he should be treating Dimitri, how the church has treated him for years and years now by keeping him caged, collared, muzzled. He is a creature groomed for murder, worse than the ghastly women he has seen lurking around whenever he has acted up in preparation for what he knows will be _their_ execution of _him_.   
  
Surely the church knows this, deep down. They know they have a created a monster that could turn on them in any second, a creature so much larger and stronger than them held on a thin leash that could snap any day now or not be wrapped around his throat in time. It is why they keep such a distance from him. Why _Claude_ should be keeping a distance from him, should be doing anything but sitting here and smiling at him and laughing quietly under his breath and Dimitri cannot understand _why_ \-   
  
"Sure, I might have just been passing through before I knew you were here, but now that I've found you, I'm staying. I don't want to make any promises about how much help I can be before I've even scoped out the situation - not that you'd trust any lip service from me anyway, obviously - but I'll definitely find something I can do for you. Ideally a lot of somethings."  
  
And Claude smiles at him through the bars of his cage.   
  
Dimitri can only stare at him for a moment, and it occurs to him distantly that, at some point, he reached up to wrap his fingers around the bars himself, as though to do.... something. Yet that somehow doesn't seem as important as the man before him. It's... Is this all actually reality? He had thought it to be such when he had accepted that bit of meat and bread from Claude, because his hallucinations have never affected his taste before, but all of this is...   
  
It's stronger than nostalgia. It's a living memory, even with all the details like _age_ and _location_ changed - although maybe the latter hasn't become all that different from when they met as children. If it were simply day instead of night, if the two of them could sit here and be warmed by the gentle rays of the morning sun... They'd be as they were in their youth, chatting away, exchanging words in Voali and Fodlish. It'd be as if they were in his room again - well, him in his room, Claude on the other side of the door, their words and voices intertwining. It could be...   
  
Roughly shoving himself away from the bars, Dimitri curls in on himself again... although not all the way against the wall as he had been for what feels like only a half hour prior. The familiarity of - _everything_ \- is far too much. "I don't know what to think," he growls, although there is not as much force in the sound as he would otherwise like. His claws curl, frustrated and helpless, along his sides. He can't trust this nostalgic apparition from his past, this terrible hopeful promise.   
  
He can't trust anything in this church or this city. He can't trust anyone. He's learned that, and Dimitri won't let such hard earned lessons go to waste.   
  
"I guess that's fair. It's been a long time, right? You're pretty different yourself from how you were when I knew you, so who's to say I'm not?" Claude's next smile is somehow, impossibly, all the brighter and more enticing. Between the bars that separate their bodies, his hand still presses through exactly as when they were children, an offering to fate or misery or pain or whatever may come next. It stays right where it is, palm stretched out before Dimitri, as Claude says, "So I guess I'll just have to show you what you can believe."  
  
Dimitri stares down at that palm, the way those fingers stretch out. When he had first seen it, this fragile little offering that could be torn off in a heart beat, it had seemed so different, somehow. It had been... a mockery, at the very best. That is what he believed it to be, because what else _could_ it be? Now, he knows the answer. Now, he knows that the Claude in front of him truly exists, is truly the boy that he knew once upon a time and so very long ago....  
  
After gods only knows how long, he reaches forward. More than _sees_ , he _feels_ the way that Claude goes absolutely dead still, but Dimitri does not take his hand as he imagines one normally would.  
  
Instead, he reaches with both his own, gently bracketing Claude's hand. He does not touch, not _quite_. His hands barely brush Claude's skin as he cups that hand which is so much smaller than he is.  
  
"If you come back," he says quietly, staring down at Claude's hand. Softly, more soft than he can remember being with anything else in his life, he ghosts the pads of his thumbs up along the curves of Claude's palm. It takes care, not to prick him with his claws as he glides them up to the gaps inbetween Claude's fingers. "...I suppose we'll see."   
  
And with that, he lets go - or perhaps he never had to let go at all, with how he barely touched Claude at all. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that he pulls away, slowly, and shuffles backwards so that there is at least a little more space between them. He doesn't know why he does it. They are as separated as two people can possibly be.   
  
Claude only pulls his hand back when Dimitri has done his, and his fingers flex inwards as he does so. As if he's trying to find the ghost of Dimitri's touch. Even if Dimitri's gaze is away, he can tell Claude is looking at him. His gaze... has a weight to it, somehow.  
  
At long last, however, he rises up, and Dimitri's ears twitch at the sound of his scuffing feet. "Just watch me," he repeats, voice low, and Dimitri raises his head to meet those too-bright green eyes. To meet the way they stare so intently at him, as if he is the only thing in the world.   
  
That moment lasts only a second, their eyes locked, before Claude turns away. He is a dark shape across the pale moonlight that spills over the courtyard, and Dimitri watches him the entire length of it. He watches until he can watch no more, when Claude steps into the shadows of the open halls that connect the buildings and other yards. With that, he's gone, easy as a specter.   
  
And yet... Dimitri's gaze drifts down to where he holds his still cupped hands close before himself. These are hands that he always thought he knew well. He has used these hands to shatter cups and bowls. In his hands, he has choked the life from another person, or dug his claws deeply into their flesh until they were losing every bit of life in them through a gush of blood.  
  
For so long, he has only known them through violence, or through bondage. He has only known _most_ of his body through bondage: the burning light of the humans' magic as it had wrapped tight to force his limbs close to his body, hard gags of metal shoved into his mouth to keep him from biting down on straying fingers or frustrating controllers, the violent sting of glass and blade and metal and -   
  
Bondage. Suffocating like a whip around this throat. Violence. Bones breaking, blood on his tongue.   
  
Claude had just existed between his hands.   
  
He had existed, and he had been warm, and he had been soft.   
  
What to make of it? Dimitri... isn't sure. All he can do is think himself in circles long into one more new dawn, staring down at his palms where Claude's hand had once been.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Through darkened hallways, away from the places he knows are the most guarded, into the room that has temporarily been deemed _his_ \- only after all of that does Claude stop, and he stares downwards. He stares down at his hand, fingers slowly uncurling. It's so easy to imagine, in the dark of his room, the softness of Dimitri's hands as they had brushed up against his. It had all been so _light_. All alone, away from anyone else's eyes, Claude indulges in the shiver he had suppressed when Dimitri had actually touched him.   
  
He had touched him... almost _tenderly_ , and even that much had made Claude's heart ache. It's still aching for him, but not in any _sensual_ way. The ache is one of pain, and regret, and so much anger that he could swear its bitter aftertaste is on the back of his tongue. Yet in that ache, there is a little bit of hope.   
  
That faint and slow touch was so at odds with the rest of Dimitri's behavior, his bitter coarseness and barely restrained violence; it's the only hint he'd seen of the boy he remembers from years ago. It's the barest glimpse of something buried and lost, something so precious that he can only hope it's salvageable. He can only hope _he_ can salvage it.  
  
Slowly, he lets a breath out between his teeth. Stepping to the side, he sinks against the wall and slowly down to the floor. It had been worth bribing one of the guards to let him through, worth it to slip past any others that had been patrolling the church grounds to keep safe its secrets and food and the lives of those they deemed pure enough to protect. It had been worth it to sit directly in front of Dimitri's cell, close as he could get without it be _weird_. He knows that now, in hindsight, where he's tucked away in a bedroom and removing his boots.   
  
But at the time... Claude breathes in again, out. Dimitri's touch had made a part of him go still - his mind or his soul, Claude isn't sure which or if there's even a difference. Yet his heart is another matter entirely, and it still beats loudly in his chest with adrenaline rushing from it.  
  
Gradually, it's slowed down... but it hasn't forgotten how it had felt to sit there, moonlight shining off the towering metal bars like the shards of a broken sword, and Dimitri's massive form hunched over him even with sturdy obstacles between them.   
  
It had been... intimidating, to say the least, how big Dimitri has grown to be. Oh, Claude used to ponder if he would grow to be big, when he was younger. The thought would occur to him whenever he was put on any sort of animal duty back in the church's orphanage. Back then, he can still remember how excited he would be at the idea of handling the horses... but, usually, they made him tend to goats or chickens, with the occasional cleaning out of stables when the horses had all been taken out already.   
  
A noteworthy event had been when one of the church hounds had gotten pregnant, and given birth to a litter. Claude actually hadn't been a first pick on taking care of the mother and her puppies, actually... That, of course, had gone to one of the children that their caretakers had favored: a smug and self-centered jackass who had always feared their elders, which had been understandable, and took that fear out by harassing other kids until they bowed to him, which was sort of still understandable but nonetheless made him an insufferable little bastard by Claude's standards.   
  
Unfortunately for him, on the day that he was supposed to help with those exact hounds, he'd ended up getting sick from _some_ mysterious thing that definitely wasn't a little bit of something slipped into his food the night before. Poor kid. His bowel movements had been a _disaster zone_. Claude, to this day, still can't exactly regret his decision back then. How could he, when it had given him the perfect opportunity to help with the mother dog's pregnancy, and eventual litter?   
  
They'd been cute, back then, when they were stumbling over their enormous feet before they were collected by the priests and nuns of the church who would train them to catch mice or go on hunts or guard places.  
  
Dimitri had been cute then, too, when Claude had gone to visit him soon after. Of course he visited him. They'd talked in their cobbled together mishmash of a language, Fodlish and Voali mingled together into a patchwork little thing for children. Claude had wanted to know what the word for "dog" was. Dimitri had wanted to show him he knew how to do a handstand now. With Claude having just seen the puppies, and Dimitri's enormous feet wobbling hilariously in the air before he'd fallen and gotten a nosebleed... Of course he had to make that connection.   
  
One boot now undone and pried off of his foot, he sets it gingerly to the side so as to note wake any potential neighbors he may have tonight. Yes, the priests would take the dogs away to make them guards and hunters... and they had taken Dimitri to make their executioner, as if those were the exact same kind of thing. Claude's fingers linger around his boot, fingers grinding into the leather before he forces himself to breathe and let go. Story of his life, honestly. Breathe and let go, in so many cases.   
  
Yet even if he doesn't like the comparison, he does have to admit that Dimitri really did exceed his expectations on just how large he could grow. Yet it's not _off-putting_ to him; that's not why he had been left feeling so on edge while he had smiled up at Dimitri's face. The other boot, now, and Claude sets it down right alongside the first before he rolls his head back to rest against the wall. No, what had got him so intimidated had been how... unstable Dimitri has become in all the years that he hasn't seen his old and beloved friend.   
  
It's not a surprise, not really, knowing where Dimitri has ended up, and what the church had always planned to be his fate. Being treated like an animal, _less than_ , and forced to kill innocent or violent people at the demands of a group that did not help those who needed it and punished them when they...   
  
Claude shakes his head, and pushes himself up onto his feet. His room isn't really his room. Instead, as with many of those who constantly travel from the city (and thus the church) and who are of no _particular_ import, it's just a temporary little living space crammed in against other temporary little living spaces. If not for the sturdy architecture of the city, he suspects he would be able to hear his neighbors' every little movement. As it is, he just hears them talk, occasionally, although there isn't much to talk about in this kind of place.   
  
It's simple, really. Claude doesn't mind that: the plain floors, a small statue by the window of the Saint, a simple closet with an accompanying chest of drawers. If he has a complaint, it's that the bed is like sleeping on rocks. Actually, as a hunter, he's _slept_ on rocks that were more comfortable.  
  
Yet for tonight, it will do, and Claude strips on the way to it. He's not really thinking about his bed, or his room. Instead, his mind is still on the defensive way that Dimitri had curled in on himself as that suspicious gaze had stayed on him. Claude had no weapons, strong metal bars had been between them, Dimitri had such a size difference... and yet he had been so certain that Claude would hurt him.   
  
He breathes out, to remember that he can, and that he's no longer in front of Dimitri's cage holding his breath. It had been tempting to run away, or at least take a step back; the human self preservation instinct can be strong. But he'd thought that would be a bad idea at the time and, now, with his too-flat pillow underneath his head and the events behind him, Claude is pretty sure that it definitely would haven't gone like he would have wanted it to. The entire time, he had wanted to trust Dimitri, and hope that trust wouldn't be betrayed.   
  
Well, that had been a _part_ of it, at least. Claude cares a lot about things, and about people, but he rarely puts sentiment above pragmatism - not when the pragmatic approach is meant to, ideally, work out best for the people he cares about. Ineffectual compassion isn't really a virtue, in his opinion. So holding his ground before Dimitri had been even more a pragmatic decision than it had anything to do with his own emotions. Even when Dimitri had loomed over him. Even when those claws had wrapped around the bars of his cage, showcasing just how easy it would be for him to reach through and do... all sorts of things.   
  
After all, gods know that Dimitri is big enough, vicious enough, _broken_ enough that he has a lot of options even as he sits there in his cage. He could have reached through the bars. Could have tugged Claude close and crushed him right there. Maybe he simply would have tore him apart, all strength and sharp claws. Closing his eyes, Claude banishes those thoughts from his mind... because Dimitri hadn't done any of that.   
  
Yeah. Claude nods to himself, folding his hands behind his head. Not retreating had definitely helped, although he wonders even now what part of it had penetrated. Had Dimitri seen his actions as a political gesture? That Claude trusted him, and how that would hopefully invite trust in return. Or maybe the strategy behind it all that had slipped past Dimitri in favor something else entirely. Claude loathes to think of his friend as an _animal_ , no matter his appearance... but there's no denying the animalistic traits he's developed in all of his years.   
  
Claude is a hunter, the best for miles he's sure, and he knows a thing or two about animalistic instincts. Dimitri has taken on the role of a predator after so long in his violent captivity, and predators are always conscious of how other creatures respond to them. If Claude had stepped away, or if he had run... He would have been 'prey'.  
  
Claude's lips quirk up a little sardonically at the corners as he reflects on how Dimitri would have reacted if he'd presented himself like _that_. In that aspect, honestly, being maimed would have been the lesser of two options. If he had been seen as 'prey'.... then how on earth would Dimitri have even _wanted_ to put his trust in him?   
  
In the back of his mind, a third reason lingers on why he hadn't stepped away from Dimitri, something that has nothing to do with sentiment and nothing to do with planning. It's an unpleasant little thing, a miserable one that he doesn't want to dwell on...  
  
Or, at least, he doesn't want it to be the last thing he thinks of as he drifts off to sleep. So Claude pushes himself up with a sigh, and leans over the edge of his bed so that he can dig around in the vast amount of empty space beneath it. It's a decent place to store one's packs, or really anything they want, although the dust underneath is plentiful enough to be used as some sort of natural resource.   
  
It's too obvious a hiding place, so Claude doesn't _really_ hide anything under there.... Or, at least, he hides nothing that seems like it would be obvious to hide it. Instead, from his always bulging pack, he draws out a carefully tended to leather journal.  
  
Like all of the rooms in this temporary little space, a desk has been provided for him. There's a candle, too, but using that up means he'd have to ask the nuns for another one. Claude would rather ask the church for nothing, even if it's just something as little as this. Better that they don't know how much he writes, and so he shifts around until he's managed to find a spot where the moonlight is just barely enough.   
  
There is nothing that, at a shallow glance, seems to stand out in his journal. This is helped by Claude genuinely using it as a journal is meant to be used, for all sorts of meaningless and mundane little things.  
  
There are notes on how the forests are doing, what animal migrations he tries to remember and if any of the creatures out there act peculiarly. He keeps various little reminders of things that might need to be replaced, either on his person or the comfortable hunting cabin that lays tucked away in the forests a good few hours away from the city. There are doodles and drippings of ink and charcoal smudges scattered all over.   
  
The idea came to him when they were all being taught poetry, by one of the better caretakers who realized that children need things that are not completely mind numbing if you don't want them to revolt but also don't want to beat or terrify them. It had just been one little thing, him realizing that the first letter in the start of each line break made an entirely different word, something that tied into the rest of the poem, and he'd felt elated at catching it. Quickly, he started to figure out his own codes, just nonsensical scribblings at first before he eventually made it grow into so much more.   
  
He indulges in that code tonight as he writes down all his impressions and thoughts from his meeting with Dimitri, and the things he will have to do to free him. Because he _is_ going to free him, of course. Claude curls his fingers a little harder against the bit of nubby charcoal he holds. Before he'd even thought of how hard the specifics would be, he'd known that he was going to free Dimitri. There's no question about it. He _will_. He _has_ to.   
  
However, like so many important things, it's not something he can do without _so_ much preparation. Guided by moonlight, Claude begins to patiently write out as many questions as he can think of - how many guards are around Dimitri's cell at any given time? Would it be easier to somehow get a key, or break through? where will they go? - and then some possible solutions and answers.  
  
There are so many things he needs to consider, because if he's going to do this, then he's going to do this _right_. He's going to make sure that Dimitri not only breaks free, but that he's never followed, never found, never chained up again and used as a beast of slaughter - Claude lets loose a breath, placing down the charcoal when he feels his fingers start to cramp.   
  
As he quietly flexes his hand and cracks his knuckles, his other thoughts from before begin to creep to the forefront of his mind. It hadn't just been a sentimental choice to stay before Dimitri even with all the danger. It hadn't been pragmatism taking up the majority, with sentiment filling in the gaps. It had been... despair.   
  
Or maybe not entirely despair, but certainly a despairing kind of _masochism_. If Dimitri really did hate him that much... If the situation really were so unsalvageable to the point of impossibility... Even though Claude has told himself that he has so much to live for, so much that he wants to change, in that moment?  
  
Gods, in that moment, the possibility before him had been so depressing that it had sapped him of all energy, of any effort that could go into self preservation. All he could do was bank on the hope that none of that was true, and so there would be no reason to cater to any other possibility.   
  
Slowly, Claude relaxes his fingers, and stares down into his open palm. As that trail of miserable thoughts settles inside of his mind, something else slips through, like hands through cage bars. It's the image of those enormous hands, so strong, so sharp, so dangerous... settling so terribly gently around his own. No hurt. No danger. Just scared and wondering. He closes his eyes, imagines that dark fur with the back of his eyelids as a blank canvas.   
  
There's hope. He reminds himself of that, thinking of how tenderly Dimitri had curved his palms around Claude's hand. There is more hope than he had thought there to be. The road ahead is still tough, and the crick in his neck when he stands up after probably an hour of writing reminds him of such. But there's hope. Exactly as he's done ever since he was a child, ever since he's _had to_ since he was a child, Claude keeps that thought cradled close to his heart as he sinks into the bed and closes his eyes.   
  
He's going to save Dimitri. They're going to be free, together. Dimitri just doesn't know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this is the chapter that goes into some of the stuff me and Lymmea Actually Roleplayed. In the discord, looking back, the descent into RP is this: 
> 
> "trilies 11/16/2019  
> claude wanted information and he sure got it!  
> half of that information are all the kinks he didn't know he was into
> 
> Lymmea 11/16/2019  
> He's sure on a journey of self-discovery today hoo boy  
> But yeah, just...imagine Claude sneaking up to Dimitri's cage at night and whispering to him through it  
> Like 'hey, remember me?'  
> Just...hoping Dimitri's mind isn't completely broken"
> 
> And then somewhere around then is when I quietly sighed and whispered to myself "fuck, she trapped me in this fandom i'm not even in, I guess now I HAVE to make a channel for this RP". 
> 
> (That's right, this was before I even knew what a Crest was. Thanks, Lymmea.) 
> 
> Anyway, before that was mostly setting stuff we were hashing out like what differentiated these two from their EFD counterparts (ex. Sanga is a jock, Claude is a nerd), and afterwards became RP stuff proper. And the first stuff of RP proper, after I'd copy-pasted all our setting stuff into that specifical RP AU channel, was... 
> 
> "Just a dead blank stare because hallucinations, dissociating, and years of extremely violent battles has probably just. sure done something to his sense of pain. That on its own would be a problem, along with, well... 
> 
> It can't be Claude. Even with the improbability of it all, meeting after so long in a world so big, that would be too good to be true. Dimitri has learned better, and such learning doesn't even entertain the possibility. 
> 
> "My hallucinations should at least have the good grace to let me fall asleep before tormenting me further." "
> 
> No one really needed to know any of this, but it's just a little fun fact for ya. Peering a bit behind the curtain, into the background that has made this fic what it is, lmao. 
> 
> Speaking of behind the scenes stuff.... the lyrics behind this chapter's title: 
> 
> "I'm all shook up  
> Shook up on you (You)  
> We burn like fireflies  
> Burn baby blue"


	3. Misfits of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri tries to tell himself that he cannot be bought by false hope so easily. That doesn't stop Claude from trying to wear him down with food and conversation alike.

Henning actually smiles a little bit when Claude tells him the news, and catches up with him after his work at the church storehouses are done with.   
  
"So you're staying a little while longer in the city for once," he says again, still marveling at this otherwise mundane bit of news. "Usually you stay for a week, if _that_ , and then you're off. What made you decide to change your mind?" There's a wry twist of a smile, and then a hand patting Claudre's shoulder. "I hope it's not because the execution from yesterday impressed you too much. Those don't happen every day, you know. It'd be worrying if they did."   
  
"Don't worry." Claude laughs in turn, letting Henning guide him along. "I'm not expecting to catch any more executions."   
  
Frankly, he'd be happy if he never saw another one ever again. He lets Henning guide him a little more out of sight from the main area of the church, that ever oppressive spire, and towards a little courtyard Claude remembers existing. Already he can hear the sound of low friendly laughter and chatter in the distance.   
  
It's no true secret that, while the church preaches "temperance", get togethers in the city (or just outside of it) aren't particularly _uncommon_. This is especially true for those not fancy enough for ornate robes, those cogs who make the day-to-day mundane necessities happen. The working folk.  
  
A nod of approval is given to that statement, the sign that he's said exactly what Henning wants to hear. "Some folks around here get far too into that," he says with a sigh. The hairs on the back of Claude's neck prickle upwards. He keeps smiling. "There are even gambling rings, or so I've heard."   
  
Humans really will be the same no matter what. Claude nods, tries to listen as if from far away. "I wouldn't think there's much to bet on," he says.   
  
"Oh, hardly on the outcome," Henning agrees, a perfectly casual conversation. "But folks will make up all sorts of things, I suppose. I've never done it, I'm no sinner, but I've heard things about it. People bet on the cause of death, or how many hits the executioner will take..." He snorts. "Although I always thought that to be a bit of a fool's bet if anything. It's a reckless thing, so it _always_ gets hurt, whether it kills the criminal or not."   
  
In the back of his head, his mind's eye drags up memories in crystal brilliant detail: blotches of red on golden fur that no longer shined brightly in the light, splatters of blood that hardened against a dirt floor, snarled out breath that is all pain and anger and despair. He thinks of Dimitri, curled up like a shield. Dimitri, every step careful and wary. Two large hands, curled so delicately around one of Claude's own.   
  
"Wow," he says. He laughs. "That's pretty morbid!" There are a lot more things he could say, and he cannot afford to say them. "Anyway, honestly, I won't lie to you, Henning, but that execution _did_ play in a part in my decision. It made me realize that it's... pretty lonely in my line of work."   
  
It's pretty lonely in his line of _existing_ , and that is part of the reason, not the entirety, of why he is going to break a Voa executioner, one of the alleged "demons" that the church so despises and fears, out of a cage located right in the dead center of the church and the city as a whole.   
  
But the great thing about what he has told Henning is that it's his favorite kind of lie: it is not _technically_ a lie. Merely... a neglect for every detail, an absence of the entire truth.   
  
His quartermaster doesn't know those other details and pieces exist, and so he nods, accepting this perfectly understandable explanation. "Animals are beautiful, although some of them are squirrely little bastards," he says, "but there's nothing quite like human connection." Another dry chuckle. It's a warm laugh, matching warm hair, and Claude wishes he could hate him. "It really says what a recluse you must be that you've held out this long with only short stays."   
  
"Hey, don't act like I don't see anybody at all!" Claude laughs back. The distant voices are a lot less distant now. "I see plenty of interesting people when doing deliveries for the church." A lot of them are other members of this church, from the larger branch that pays no mind to a little remote city like this. A lot _more_ of them are various strangers, and people Claude would even dare to call friends. No small amount of them are people vital for his various plans, things he has in the works and goals he aims to accomplish. "Although speaking of people, are you sure these friends of yours won't mind me suddenly jumping in...?"  
  
Henning makes a relaxed and dismissive sound. "Oh, they love new faces to rib on, and they know I wouldn't bring anyone who'd be a downer. Not for a night of relaxation. Why, are you worried?"   
  
"It's been a while!" Some more laughter. It's easier to laugh, and people fall for it better, too. Making friends here is not high on his list of priorities, although he would never oppose this group liking him. Claude has other concerns.   
  
He's lucky; Henning apparently has decent taste in friends. There are a couple of the usual comments, but the ones that think they're compliments. No one is aggressive. Just about all of them chuckle at his jokes, and love to hear stories, or exchange them. There's no fire, or else one of the nuns or a priest might come in to scold them, so they all drink by moonlight.   
  
It's easy enough, with the moon mostly full. Apparently, it's a regular little thing for them. The alcohol is some cheap wine. Claude manages to get out of drinking with an uproarious tale of how a monk caught him sneaking a curious sip once and punished him so bad that he can't even look at the stuff anymore. (At least, that's what he tells them.)   
  
They are not _bad_ people. They're just... flawed. Or, rather, it is the system that is flawed, he reminds himself as he gratefully accepts a small waterbag from a woman with a rough smile and honest eyes. A flawed system that produces flawed and hurt people.   
  
Flawed they may be, and friendly, but more than anything else... They're _useful_ , too, in ways that Claude had quietly been hoping for. They exchange all sorts of gossip, most of it new and that he's not had a chance to hear with how much he passes out of the city. He knows better than to take everything at face value, of course... but the vice of one nun, or the temper of one of the bishops, that's all something to look into for the future. Just.. in... case.   
  
Sometimes, he gets quieter little things, too. Alcohol is useful, that way, and why he doesn't indulge himself. One person too near to Claude mutters how his husband best not know he's gone drinking with the friends again, that he'll have to be quiet getting back home. When Claude helps a woman work through a fit of nausea from just a bit too much liquor, she drunkenly confesses to a bad habit of sticky fingers when she's like this, and her worries on it. Claude sympathizes, at the same time that he stores such information away, and is glad that he didn't bring his coin purse to this gathering.   
  
Most valuable of all, however, is when he hears a certain name pop up. That certain name is soon followed by _lots_ of chatter, all to do with a certain occupation. It doesn't take long for him to hear that Afey is a guard who used to work near the gates. He used to get bored, and so slacked off, and so got caught. As with so many minor little punishments that are used around this place, he'd been sent over to the executioner... not to be killed, but simply to patrol the area.   
  
Apparently, for some, it's highly unpleasant. Oh, not because they're _terrified_ , although Claude is pretty sure that more people are deeply scared of Dimitri than they'd care to admit. The children are open about it, of course, but adults are supposed to be _adults_. The "demon" is nothing more than a boogeymonster under their bed, albeit a real creature that some amongst their number can control.   
  
Oh, no, for adults? Adults have to worry about Dimitri being more _bratty_ than anything. Claude doesn't hold back when he hears about some of the ways the executioner has tried to "intimidate" his captors; he's pretty sure it's more simply acting out. It takes effort to muffle his own laughter when he hears about the time Dimitri threw a soup bowl at a guard's head because he wouldn't stop clicking his tongue, and other similar incidents.   
  
Dimitri, from what he can tell, is very _particular_ how his space is for both the noises around it or the things he's given, which isn't very much at all. Considering that, Claude feels he's perfectly valid in such childish temper tantrums.   
  
_Intimidation tactics_. Ha. Please.   
  
From what he can tell amongst the quiet and often drunken gossip, there's a kind of hazing ritual amongst anyone who's had to go on guard patrol around Dimitri's cage, where they'll not tell a single new soul about just what sets Dimitri off. _Learning from experience_ and all that. That means that any newbies often try to delay the inevitable in their routes, taking ages to return for a quick peak before scurrying off to see that, hey, maybe the kitchens should be looked over instead, yeah? Afey seems to be exactly like that sort, too... and the routes they often seem to take are not that hard to hear about, or remember.   
  
The little get together only lasts perhaps a few hours, at most. Among those gathered for tonight, the majority seem to reside in the city. All they have to do is leave the immediate church lands and head out to the streets. Quartermaster Henning is one of those, but he's a decent guy. Guides Claude back to the temporary housing that scouts, traders, visitors, and hunters use for the church. You know, the common run-of-the-mill ones, anyway.  
  
That suits him just fine. There's a couple of things he wants to pick up, after all. So he gives his thanks to the quartermaster when they stop outside the building, and he does in fact go to his room. He stays there for around... half an hour, he'd say. Just enough to grab something he'd picked up that morning, during breakfast, and take the chance to change out of his usual boots.  
  
It doesn't take too long before he's slipping out again, a little shadow that no one notices. He has one more stop to make before he goes see the person he's _really_ wanted to be with, one of the few people he knows can make him truly feel less alone. This late at night, he doubts anyone will be watching the pantry too hard...   
  
  
  
  
  
The moon hangs high over his cage as he paces, so temptingly and mockingly out of reach. Dimitri glances at it occasionally. It's a source of... He's not sure. It's kind of ridiculous to blame the moon for anything to do with his current situation.   
  
Oh, no, not the fact that he is a prisoner and weapon. He knows that is the fault of no one but the humans who brought him to this place to start with. _They'll_ pay for that cruelty one day, and they shall pay for his existence in spades.   
  
Rather, it's... Well, he supposes it has to do with the reason why he is acting like this in the first place. Waiting.   
  
Experimentally, Dimitri reaches one end of his cage and twists on his foot to go rushing towards the opposite end. He brakes suddenly, one foot raised, pawpads slamming against stone. It doesn't so much as rattle his fangs... so he's more idle than anything as he pulls his leg back to investigate his foot.   
  
There's not much to do in his cage, _obviously_. Most nights are ones like this, with his days spent sleeping as best he can, whether in long stretches or short bursts. That leaves him a lot of time at night, when the moon reigns supreme instead of the sun. And it is... infuriating.   
  
A slow breath rattles out from between his teeth, and he bounces back from the wall before finally putting his foot down. They have groomed him into a monster, a tool, but a tool is to be _used_. In order for him to survive, he knows he needs the energy and strength and quickness to be "victorious" in his fights... if the results can truly ever be called that.   
  
Yet in the confines of his cage, stuck between hard brick and carefully forged metal, what is he to do? There is no _purpose_ here. All he can do is this: pacing, running, jumping or kicking or throwing what few things they allow him. They do not allow him much. Certainly nothing that would be satisfying to throw.   
  
Even more infuriating is that he knows this will not last, not truly, and a vague ache from his stomach reminds him of this fact. Spitefully, Dimitri ignores it, and resumes pacing. They feed him twice a day: early in the morning, and then in the afternoon, bordering on evening, never quite enough. He's long since stopped tasting the food they give him, although there's never been much _to_ taste.   
  
As he walks, Dimitri grinds his tongue along the curve of one fang and tries to recall what he even _had_ this afternoon. Soup or stew? There's hardly any difference.   
  
His tongue pauses somewhere near the back of his jaw, twisted to get that far, and Dimitri's mind can't help but wander to what he _had_ been able to taste. A gentle smokiness, a bright tartness - when was the last time he had tasted anything besides texture and copper? He can't remember. When he was a child, maybe. There had been the sound of eager little footsteps, whispering, and a fist wiggling past the bars of his door with a golden offering right there in the center of his palm...   
  
Sound. Dimitri's ears twitch, and one twists sharply to better focus on that area, but he already knows who it is. The humans who regularly walk these halls in the darker hours feel no need to hide their presence. Their steps are bold, the full weight of their little bodies put down against the earth. Depending on how high the station, or how well armored they feel they need to be, sometimes there's even a sharp _click_.   
  
They are nothing like this soft whisper of soles brushing against stone, soft as a cat. But he's certainly been lost in his own head tonight. By the time he looks over and out to the courtyard, Claude is already more than halfway across it with those bright green eyes focused on him and only him.   
  
Dimitri stops pacing, stops moving at all save for his tail slowly drifting back and forth. "So," he says, eye wide as he takes in Claude's approach. "You came." He doesn't know why he says it, why the point needs to be hammered in any further.   
  
Stopping before his cage, same non-existant distance as before, Claude plants his hands on his hips. "Of course!" he replies, so casually _gallant_ that Dimitri is fairly certain that he's being messed with. Played with? He's not sure what the right phrase would be. The right word. "You've mistaken me for someone unreliable. Believe me, that's an easy mistake to make." There it is again, that grin. "But I can't very well show you anything if you don't get to see me, can I?"  
  
When they were children, even with language keeping them apart, Dimitri remembers how much Claude had laughed and giggled and smiled. If he could not _speak_ with Dimitri, it seemed as though he had made it a goal to still make Dimitri laugh as well. He'd been playful, that way. It'd... been nice, back then.   
  
Now, well, now it's strange to him, after so many years not experiencing anything even remotely like it. All he can do is stare a little bit at Claude. What is he supposed to say here?   
  
Apparently, he doesn't have to say anything at all, because Claude continues on as he steps even closer. The exaggerated pull of his smile ebbs away, and there's something a little more... a little more Claude, there, in his smile. He still has a pouch at his belt, just as he had last night, and he undoes the top of it. "Hungry? I got better food this time. I goooot..." Even before Claude pulls out a packet of wax paper, Dimitri's nose is twitching. "Let's see. Smoked sausages, some cheese, dried fruits... Oh! And some fresh bread. Baked just this morning."   
  
When Claude pushes the packet forward, he has to press down, compress, just to push it past the bars at all. Snapping out of his faint confusion and wariness, Dimitri finally moves forward as well with his hands carefully outstretched. It's an automatic reaction, honestly, to ensure that the packet doesn't drop to the ground and that his food is not - well. He'd probably eat just about anything Claude had listed no matter if it fell on the floor, but still. Once he actually has it in his grasp, a comfortable weight, he's... not entirely sure what to do with it.   
  
The answer is obvious, he knows, it just - takes a moment. Claude doesn't rush him at all. He simply stands there, relaxed, smiling, and seems so _happy_ when Dimitri finally lowers himself down onto the ground. Pulling one hand from around the package, Dimitri tried to unwrap it, only to grimace when one long claw slices through the paper like it's air. This... may take a moment, he suspects. It would be child's play to just keep going, to tear everything to shreds, but it... His gaze flicks up at Claude, who's settling down onto the ground as well with his legs and ankles crossed.   
  
...He wants to do this right.   
  
"So you have enough extra-" What's the word? There's a word for what he's thinking of, and Dimitri tears through the wax paper some more on accident. "-money. Enough to spend on things like this..."   
  
"Well, technically the church employs me," Claude explains, still watching Dimitri. Something in his gaze somehow seems... content. Satisfied? "Not that I had a lot of other job options, growing up as their ward. But I make a decent living as a hunter who brings in food for them...and sometimes they use me as a scout, since I go everywhere and I'm good in the wilderness. Mostly it's just keeping the larders full, though." The corners of his lips quirk up, a little more energy added to his otherwise relaxed smile. "But, if I'm being entirely honest, I might have lifted this stuff from the kitchen's personal stores without, ah, precisely asking. No point in troubling anyone over so little, right?"  
  
Dimitri eyes Claude dully, fingers paused over what is quickly becoming a shredded mess on his lap. Once, when he was younger, he think he would have raised a fuss at that kind of revelation. He would have protested. Theft isn't the kind of thing one should encourage recklessly; he thinks he remembers his father imparting lessons like that.   
  
Certainly that had been what he'd believed when he'd first met Claude. Then, when he had first been forced across the world, through space, through magic, he hadn't quite understood what had happened. Dimitri narrows his eyes down at the wax paper just remembering it all: dazed and dizzy and with so many figures around him in a circle. He hadn't made the connection at first. He didn't make the connection for many years. When he flicks a claw through wax paper this time, it's on purpose.   
  
They hadn't hurt him, not immediately. They did not press magic into his wrist to burn a brand there, a connection. They did not force him into this cage. Instead, it had been a quiet little room locked away out of sight, and he had...   
  
Dimitri tries, this time, to do better with the wax paper, and doesn't succeed. He'd believed better, then. He had thought if he were patient, and polite, and nice, then things would work out in the end and he would be able to go home, because, even without a family, he still had a _home_ \-   
  
His claw shakes, but he manages to unwrap one portion of the wax paper. Dimitri lets out a breath and keeps going.   
  
So he'd believed better of the world, and he'd been desperate, back then. He'd cared, back then. Right now, he doesn't think he could possibly care less, although perhaps he could muster up some effort to try.   
  
Instead, he shakes some wax paper off of his claw. The package has been a bit more shredded than properly unwrapped, but it's a good first start. Maybe. "If you continue to steal, they will discover the culprit," he points out, getting back to work. He did not think he had much pride left in him, but this is apparently a matter of it. "Enough of it, and they will very likely send you to me."   
  
It's been something he's carefully figured out over the years, just who the humans in this church send to him and why. Honestly, despite all the time he has had to do nothing but kill humans, he has to admit that he doesn't understand their judgments fully. There are generally three types of humans that are sent to him. Three types of brands tattooed onto their chests to be visible over a low enough shirt. Three types of... sin, he thinks. Or maybe they're crimes? None of his captors have ever bothered to inform him of what his claws dig into. They only demand the claws.   
  
But Claude told him, once upon a time. He tried to explain the church's purpose, and the idea of saints or gods or just a _one_ god, and there was... varying success. Of course there had been. They had been children, and the translation from Claude's language to Dimitri's had always been clunky at best.   
  
Yet Dimitri had still remembered that Claude had managed to get across _theft_ to him well enough, and how people who could not stop stealing were eventually punished. Dimitri couldn't have known what that punishment was.   
  
Another piece of wax paper pried away, the tip of one claw gently tugging it along. A strange feeling curls in the pit of his chest, a kind of relief. How strange. "I suppose that would be one way of dealing with the sneaking you seem to be so fond of," he murmurs, remembering that he had a sentence he sought to finish.   
  
It is an afterthought, something he remembers only when the last of the wax paper follows the tug of his claw and reveals the vast amount of food that had been stuffed into such a fragile and tiny little thing like a sheet of paper. There really is meat. Then again, there had been meat, too, with the food that Claude had given him only last night. Perhaps this shouldn't be so surprising.   
  
"Don't worry," Claude says, a chuckle acting as a punctuation mark. "I'll be careful. That... _is_ concern you're showing, right?"  
  
"It's honesty," is Dimitri's gruff response, although he doesn't think he means it to quite come out that way. It's just, he's preoccupied as he delicately takes the wax paper spread off from his lap so that he can place it on the slightly better position of the ground. As he does this, as he leans over it, he takes in a deep inhale from his nose.   
  
With only scent alone, all of this is so much better than anything he's eaten in years. His tail thrashes behind him, once, twice, eager even though he tries to tell it to not do that. Such good food, it'd almost be a waste to eat it all in one rush... but his stomach has other ideas. It's just hard to know where to start.   
  
While he makes this decision, Claude lets Dimitri's words roll right off of his shoulders, down his back. Just like he had last night. He keeps talking, leaning forward, chin to hand, casual as can be. "Anyway, I don't think they're going to notice one person's worth of food missing, especially if it's not every day. Which it can't be, because as much as I might like to visit you every night, I won't always be able to. Sometimes there'll be events here that keep things too active for me to go unobserved, or I'll be sent out hunting or traveling and have to spend the night out in the wilds or in other towns...who knows. I'll visit as often as I can get away with, but I can't exactly promise a consistent schedule. We'll just have to roll with the situation as it is, and see where that takes us."  
  
He leans back again, and watches as Dimitri finally makes his choice to go with the bread first. At least, Dimitri wants to believe that Claude's watching him eat, because the alternative is that he's noticed how much his tail is flicking back and forth. Better for him to watch his careful and particular methods of eating than _that_.   
  
If this were his regular meal, well, Dimitri wouldn't have to do anything all besides just eat: bread into soup to make it edible, finish off the bread, finish off the soup. Simple. With this... With this he actually has _choice_ , which is a strange thing after so long.   
  
Claude seems mildly happy either way, content, and Dimitri still cannot tell if it's because of his tail or because he's glad Dimitri is accepting his food. Well. 'Accepting', as he tears a piece of bread off to curiously feel its softer innards.  
  
All Claude does is keep talking, like this is still _normal_. "Anyway, I'd like to make your food myself, but I can't really get away with that." He stretches his arms, first out in front of himself, then high up, fingers laced together the entire time until they stop at a rest behind his head. "If I wanted to make you anything hot, I'd be cooking late at night and someone would be bound to notice and question the smell. And it's not like I have the skill set, or the tools, to just whip up things like bread and sausages and cheese over a campfire. Nope; the food I make myself is the stuff you've already had, and it's fine for traveling but I want to do better for you. The gods know you deserve it. So it's stealing or bust, really."  
  
 _Gods_. Not God, not the one of two names that this place prays and confesses their sins to. They're names that he can remember hearing ever since it was a room and not a cage that he was trapped inside of, names he had echoed to Claude once when the other boy had slipped down to visit him. They had not been the gods Dimitri could remember from his homeland, and Claude had managed to clumsily explain that it was the same for him as well.   
  
Dimitri rolls the clump of bread inbetween the pads of his forefinger and thumb, feeling the way its texture is lost until it becomes something more like a little ball against his pads. "Clearly what your gods think doesn't matter, because this is what I've earned," he mutters, and finally puts the piece of bread inside of his mouth.   
  
"Where you've ended up and what you've earned don't necessarily have any correlation to each other, you know," Claude says, mild as he continues to watch him. Well, it's hard to come up with a comment against that, even if Dimitri does not believe it to be true, if he believes this is all simply nonsense trying to masquerade as some sort of logic. Claude is very good at that, he thinks. And then, as the bread sinks against his tongue and his teeth chew through it, he stops thinking at all, and his tail gives a few rapid twitches at the very tip.   
  
It's... _good_. A little sweet, a little earthy. There is no stale crunch, a signal that all flavor has been drained out with the passage of time, a troublesome act of eating that is only barely worth the energy put into it. Dimitri chews and tastes until he can't taste anymore, until it is but liquid nothing in his mouth, and then he swallows. For the first time in years, his stomach almost feels... content.   
  
Content but not satisfied. Still, he doesn't tear into the rest of the bread, or see if it tastes any different when his fingers haven't misshapen it from its original form. Instead, putting it back upon the wax paper, he goes for a piece of dried fruit that had been packed alongside it. It is shriveled in Dimitri's grasp, and yields just faintly to even a small bit of pressure that he applies.   
  
"I wish I had small talk to make while you're eating," Claude says, sliding his hands down from behind his head. He's still watching. "Obviously your mouth is busy. But I feel like it wouldn't exactly be appealing to listen to anything people have to say about the outside when you've been locked up all this time."  
  
Dimitri's gaze flicks up at Claude, eye narrowed. "No," he mutters, the reverb of a growl behind that single word. "It's not."   
  
After all, whatever else Claude might think - if this is indeed as genuine as he claims it is - they are still both _here_. They are still in the places this church and its humans have deigned they belong: Dimitri a weapon to be aimed and sunk into the masses regardless of circumstance or true innocence, Claude merely one more twig of a branch of the tree that is a religion he does not even believe in.   
  
It is what it is, and nothing can really change that. Not even a simple bit of the first fruit he has had in a very long time.   
  
Closing his eye, Dimitri focuses on the faint sliver of juice that flows on his tongue, and the taste which still clings to the sour flesh that turns sweet after he's already swallowed. The fruit is good, despite everything. The fruit is good, because of everything.   
  
"I thought you might have missed having someone to talk to." Despite being told off, Claude is still there. Even before he'd spoken again, Dimitri could still feel the weight of his gaze upon him. He can feel it not leaving. "Guess I thought wrong, huh?"   
  
Dimitri doesn't bother to give him an answer, just leaves the fruit in its place on the wax paper. It's not that Claude is wrong, or, if he is wrong, Dimitri is not sure it is in the entirely right way of truth. He's talked plenty to himself over the years, talked to the ghosts he thought were haunting him, talked to the illusions he eventually knew they were. His mouth is all that is available to him, now.   
  
Usually, that is with words. Tonight, right now as he closes his teeth delicately around the very end of a sausage, his mouth serves a different purpose. Tonight finds his tail wildly smacking around behind him again when flavor bursts along his tongue.   
  
Same reaction with the cheese. Same silence from Claude. With the lack of conversation, Dimitri suddenly feels that his reactions are far too _loud_ in the silence. Ever rapid flick from the tip of his tail as mild sweetness rolls in his mouth sounds like the beat of a drum.   
  
Yet Claude makes no indication that he's watching. That he's seen. At least, when Dimitri glances up at him, he's pretty sure he's not seen.   
  
Certainly he can't have been caught looking. His eye isn't like the eye of a human. That was one of the first things he'd noticed about them. Well, he'd noticed a lot of things that made humans stand out so differently compared to Voa, but that had been a top contender for first place. His eyes don't show the middle part so easily. Just blue all the way through. That shields him... he thinks.   
  
Not that it matters if he's seen, he tries to tell himself as he finishes up his taste test of the different foods. He's gone completely naked in his cage before when the summers have gotten too hot for his fur. He'd ignored any yelling the humans had directed his way, doing his best to find the darkest corner of his cage to lay in.   
  
Certainly, he has to use the restroom like any other living creature, and, well, there's nowhere to really do that _particularly_ privately. It had taken ages for them to anything related to that in his cage, a small bucket whose reek he's grown dead to. And they'd only done _that_ when he'd almost made himself sick holding it in, when he was younger and thought himself to possess more dignity.   
  
So what is he worked up about? The wag of a tail? Dimitri scowls, tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth. His eye focuses back on Claude, still silent and content and watching there on the other side of the bars. Soon enough, his manners only deteriorate even more, and he hadn't really been using them much to begin with. He devours almost everything Claude has seen fit to bring him tonight, not caring if he makes a mess of himself, if he sounds or looks disgusting. He eats as though it will be taken from him, by some sort of cruel whim he can't even begin to understand.   
  
Nothing is taken from him, which is a first in a very long time. A lot of 'firsts in a very long time' have been happening for the last two nights. In the end, however, he doesn't eat everything. Not exactly.   
  
He leaves maybe half of the cheese, and a good couple pieces of fruit, set off to the side in the piece of wax paper that now seems so much larger without the rest of its haul to fill its crumpled existence. The cheese had been the best, in his estimate, and he'd prefer more meat than fruit right now... but the fruit is nice. A sharp flavor that cuts through his mind, makes him feel a little more aware. He thinks it will cut through the monotony of his days just as easily.   
  
All of that is for the future. He cleans his fingers of anything that might be leftover, swipes his tongue over his mouth and a little fur. All the while, his gaze stays on Claude. Claude, still watching. In all his chattering, he'd said he was a hunter. Dimitri can see that in the way he stays so still and patient.   
  
Refocusing on Claude's existence, on his _not leaving_ , is bothers a corner of his mind that he hasn't paid much attention to in most of his life. "What is it that you are getting out of this?" he asks, a low mutter of a question. An old friend can't just be a _friend_. Not for him, not here, not in this time and place and what he is. There has to be a reason.  
  
"What, you don't think your winning personality and scintillating company are enough of a reward?" Claude blinks at him, acting innocent, before the act quickly crumbles and a chuckle leaves him. "Seriously, though, this isn't about getting something. We're friends, and that's enough. But I guess being with my old friend is getting something, if it comes to that...no matter how suspicious and hostile you are. Knowing you're all right means a lot...for a given value of 'all right', obviously, but it's a big improvement for me over my having no idea what happened to you. Wondering if you were even alive."  
  
It's foreign, this- everything. Claude's everything. All the teasing, all the glibness, the playful smiles, those are all things that he hasn't seen aimed in his direction in a long time. Better... to assume them fake. They have to be fake.   
  
Yet even as Dimitri watches Claude, the words and sound leaving his lips begins to lose its lightness, and his face begins to settle into something more serious. Somber. It should be a sign of a mask being dropped away.  
  
It isn't.  
  
Dimitri can feel no vindication at a mask being torn away when Claude is still acting as _himself_. He's still telling Dimitri the very same things that he was telling him the night before, when they reunited after so many years separated: he cares, they're friends, Dimitri deserves _more_ than a cage and a brand and blood soaked through his fur.   
  
Claude looks at him with those bright green eyes, and tells him, "I missed you, you know. A lot. Being able to be with you again would be worth risking a lot, all by itself. But you've had a miserable time of it, too, for no good reason, so being able to do something - anything - to make that better is worth even more."  
  
He's been missed. His absence, somehow, has been noticed. Deep in his chest, Dimitri's heart clenches and aches painfully. That these ideas could be real, could be _something_...   
  
Resisting the urge to dig his claws into his own ribcage, Dimitri draws one knee up to his chest. "You miss what I was," he says quietly, arms wrapping around his leg.   
  
"No, I missed _you_ ," Claude says, immediate, unhesitating. Those green eyes, focused right on Dimitri. "Full stop, I missed you. I'm not blind, Dimitri. I can see how you've changed. But I'm still here, aren't I? You might be different, but you're still you. Besides, the way you are now..." Trailing off for a second, Claude lets out a slow breath. "This isn't how you want to be, is it? It's not what's natural for you. It's what they've _made_ you to be, and what the situation's demanded you become."   
  
Those green eyes seem to dig through him so easily, as though roots seeking shelter in the warmth of his body. Dimitri can't stop Claude from talking, not now, and so Claude continues. "How could anyone blame you for that? How could they call that _natural_? If either of us finds that distasteful, it's not on you. And if it's rooted in the situation you're in... Then it doesn't have to be permanent, either."  
  
" _It is what I am regardless_!" The ache in his chest isn't leaving. It's just - Dimitri snarls, guttural and bestial, exactly what he is, what he always will be. His claws dig into his leg as he leans forward, hackles raised. "Natural or not, wanted or not, there's no changing what I am now. You've seen what I can do - what I do _regularly_."  
  
Dimitri pulls his lips up over his fangs, bares them as a point and a warning both. Blood still seems to linger on the back of his tongue, texture and taste and heat, even though he knows there is no physical trace of it anymore. "I broke his _neck_ with my _teeth_ \- I didn't _have_ to do that. There is much I do not have to do so long as the end means a person dies. Yet I still do it." His heart is pounding, aching, and Dimitri feels out of breath as he glares at Claude. "And you'll still _hold onto that_?"  
  
Because he can't. Because no person should. That's the terrifying thing, Dimitri realizes, as his heart beats painfully against the inside of his chest. _He_ doesn't even want himself, this monster he's become. No, not even a monster - a thing. A tool, a weapon. That's all he is, and he should not want for more.  
  
And yet he does. It has only been two nights, and yet here he is, a monster and a weapon and a fool, already knowing he wants this never ending chatter from Claude instead of more still nights where he only has his ghosts for company. He knows he will want more of this in the future, even if he never received a bite of food again: the noise, the warmth...   
  
The way Claude holds his gaze levelly, and _does not leave_. "Yes," he says, quiet and firm. "Even if that's what you are now, even if that's all you're ever going to be, I'm still going to hold onto that. I don't even know why you're asking, Dimitri. If I'd decided otherwise, if I hadn't already made up my mind that who and what you are now is worth whatever I can offer, would I have even _come_?"  
  
The ache inside of his chest snaps. "Because you _SHOULDN'T_!" Dimitri is on his feet again in a whirl of movement. It's easy to remember, like this, that he towers over Claude so easily, and his fists shake at his sides. "I _can't_ \- it's _not_ -"  
  
But the words crash and scramble inside of his head, tangling into one another and lodging in his mind, inside of his throat. Dimitri hasn't spoken to other people like this in a very _very_ long time; his hallucinations don't respond to him in quite the same way. His hallucinations certainly don't get him worked up like this, not anymore.   
  
For a second, all he does is stand there while he practically chews the air as if he can spit the words out of himself. But he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know what he _wants_ to say. There's just... emotion. Too much emotion to handle.   
  
Words useless, fleeting, Dimitri whirls away and resumes the frantic pacing that he had initially abandoned at Claude's appearance. Actually, it's different, now. Now, it's more furious, more frantic, and he trembles with an energy he both can't contain and can't express. The hard beat of his feet against the ground helps... but not as much as he'd like.   
  
In the face of this sort of thing, most humans of the church have backed away in nervousness, or held their ground with clenched jaw and clenched fist with intent clear. All Claude does is quietly laugh, a soft but long kind of sound. It hadn't occurred to Dimitri before, but... He thinks the other man did this the last night, too. So carefully quiet...   
  
People, nowadays, don't even blink if he makes a ruckus inside of his cage, unless he's particularly loud enough for long enough. But that's him. That is the demon they so despise. A person's laughter, or the sound of his voice... That's a little more noticeable, he supposes.   
  
"I've got such a long history of doing things I shouldn't do, Dimitri." Claude's eyes practically glitter over his wide smile. "You have no idea. That includes making friends with you in the first place. Being told I shouldn't do something just makes me want to do it _more_."   
  
The words he wants to use come to mind a little easier, this time, although only after perhaps a good dozen paces from one end of his cage to the other. Mainly, it's just a question, something he has been wondering, on and off, ever since Claude first reappeared in his life. "How did you find me?" That first conversation didn't feel _planned_ , exactly. Something about it was just too sudden.   
  
"Oh, that?" Another one of those light laughs, although it seems different this time around. Dimitri could not and cannot explain how. "Total accident! It's like I said: I was just passing through. But, well, I guess I must have laid the charm on a little too thick when I was dropping off supplies I'd brought to the quartermaster, because he roped me into going to see an execution. Not exactly my idea of a fun time, honestly... But he wouldn't hear any objections. And, well... I saw you there."   
  
Just like Dimitri had thought: it had been that execution which had drawn Claude in. His tail snaps back and forth again, still aggravated and anxious. That had been the only possible way, after all. In any other situation, well, he's here, in his cage. That Claude had found him exactly on the night of his most recent kill...  
  
Claude continues, still so casually dismissing what an oddity he is for all of this. "I was pretty sure I recognized you, even after all this time. We were lucky enough to get front row seats, but the arena is still pretty far down, and you _are_ quick when you're in a fight. I wanted to make sure. So-" He flicks his hand, a quick little gesture towards the current scenario both of them are in. "Here I am."   
  
Here he is _indeed_ : a nonsensical fool who saw a monster dig his teeth into the living flesh of a man to break his neck, and yet still believes such a creature is capable of anything else. Who will shove his hand, soft and vulnerable, through the bars of a cage meant to keep him safe.   
  
Things used to make sense, only two nights ago. Now, it feels as though nothing makes sense, and he is left unsteady and weightless in his confusion. But being just _confused_ has never helped him, or at least it has not helped him fro a very long time. Unfortunately, the only other alternative he knows is anger, and, well, that does him little good here.   
  
All Dimitri can do is whirl away again, pacing another half a dozen times as raging adrenaline burns through his veins uselessly. Claude keeps watching him, amused at the reaction.   
  
Some more words come again when the energy leaves, and they come as Dimitri storms back to the bars of his cage with one finger pointed at Claude accusingly. "Then this is all _your_ responsibility," he snaps, the word rusty on his tongue and dragging along faint memories that taste like copper. A different kind of copper than that which he tasted only the night before. His tail thrashes, whip-like, behind him. "Whatever happens because of this, I have nothing to do with it. With the rate you are going, I will no doubt see you with a diamond upon your chest soon enough."   
  
"I can think of worse ways to die," Claude says, completely unperturbed. Dimitri sort of wants to throw something at him. Unfortunately, his cage is clean. "But there's no reason why my decisions would ever be your responsibility, is there? If the consequences for those decisions turn out to be you, so be it." He grins. Dimitri wishes flinging a blanket would have more of a satisfying weight to it. "But I'm a bit more sneaky than I used to be, you know. I think I can get away with this."   
  
Slowly, Dimitri takes a deep breath, and then he does not waste it with a verbal response. All he does is tilt his head a bit as he looks down at Calude, trying to convey with expression alone how utterly foolish he still thinks this all is, and how this _obviously_ would still be _his_ responsibility if Claude gets sentenced to death, and how on earth can't he _see_ that?  
  
It's a bit complex a message for a face. He's not entirely sure if he succeeds.   
  
"I suspect it is not very hard to get in here if one truly wants to," he eventually says, stepping away and sweeping his body to a sharp curl against the ground. Unlike before, he doesn't retreat to the far wall of his cage. A little closer to the middle, maybe. "Most people do not lack _sense_." Which makes it almost _odd_ that Claude seems to, not only because it is such a common thing, but because Dimitri's memories of the boy with green eyes on the other side of his door had framed him as so _clever_.  
  
Claude's smile has not left his face. "You really are worried about me, aren't you?" he asks - no, says - lazily.   
  
He's not. He better be not. "I am stunned, if I am anything at all," Dimitri grumbles, adjusting his cheek where it rests against his arms so that he can peer out and over at Claude. "I am not often in a position where I can watch foolishness of this level."  
  
"What's so foolish about it, anyway?" Claude prompts, as though he expects to get a list, and is eager for it.   
  
Dimitri doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. And, besides - "Would the details of such cause you to reconsider your actions?" he retorts. While Dimitri has only had two nights to get to know Claude again, that has been more than time enough to know that the answer to that question is 'no'.   
  
"You know, I'd like to believe you're asking that because some part of you doesn't actually want to dissuade me from being your friend." Claude continues to smile, but - it happens for just a brief second. So brief that Dimitri cannot entirely be certain anything changed. Certainly the smile on his lips didn't waver. Neither did his voice. His eyes, maybe... "But let's face it, you've been doing nothing _but_ that ever since we reunited. I'm too smart to believe the lies I tell myself."  
  
He leans back, then, palms flat against the hard ground of the courtyard. This lets him tilt his head back, his face towards the stars. Dimitri shifts his head a bit, but, ultimately... he doesn't move forward again. He already knows without having to try that he will not be able to see the same sky that Claude can. All the stars, and the shape of the moon... Those are foreign to him. No, not foreign. Barred.   
  
Instead, he watches Claude's face, engrossed in how disarmed he is in the present moment and the way moonlight warms his dark skin. So lost in staring, he's a bit startled when Claude speaks up again. "But to answer your question... No, I suppose nothing you could tell me would change my mind. Not really. I've already considered my actions plenty."   
  
"I have a great deal of doubt about that." Dimitri's tail flicks sharply, once, at the end. This doesn't seem _considered_. This seems... death seeking. Nothing at all like that clever boy he once knew. Is that the point? He can only wonder, and watch, and talk. "So... a night is all you need to consider your actions, then." Too little time, in his opinion.   
  
Claude's eyes don't leave the stars. "It's all I need to decide where I'm going." He shrugs. "As for the finer details of how I'm going to get there, well, that tends to take a little longer. But I never claimed to have those all ironed out already, and I'm working on them as we speak."   
  
Where he's going.... Dimitri's gaze begins to shift off towards some distance he cannot truly see. Little wonder, then, that he can't...   
  
"Hm?" When Dimitri blinks and comes back to himself, it is to see that Claude is looking back over at him again. "Can't what?"   
  
This doesn't seem to bother Claude much, and there is only curiosity in the way he looks at Dimitri. "You said it's not surprising you can't... something," he says. "Can't what?"   
  
"Ah." Things make sense now. "I said that aloud..." This happens, sometimes.   
  
Or, at least, he thinks it happens sometimes. Dimitri can't entirely be sure most of the time. After all, it's only been him and his ghosts. His captors react to him whatever noises he makes, or doesn't make, so has it ever really mattered? Dimitri rubs his face down against the soft fur of his arms, trying to force himself back into his body where he unfortunately belongs. It's not exactly stable... but what does _he_ care about stable?   
  
"I cannot understand your thinking. But I would not. There is no need for me to think on where I am going." He tucks his nose into the crook of his elbow, voice odd and muffled to his own ears. "Perhaps, in that light, foolishness can almost make sense."   
  
"I see." Claude says nothing else for a moment. When Dimitri finally allows himself to look over his arm a bit, he can see the man quietly studying him. Before Dimitri can hide his face away again, however, he scoots over until his shoulder is against the bars of Dimitri's cage and he's leaning sideways against them. "So... You're resigned to being here forever, huh? You're on such a hair trigger, I was wondering if you give them trouble trying to get free."   
  
"I won't be here forever." Of course, that could almost be mistaken for optimism, and he doesn't want _that_. "I'll die." He thinks he sees Claude's eyes move at that, a brief flick towards the star strewn heavens as though asking for guidance from some god of his at what might vaguely be humor. Dimitri prefers to think of it as a statement of fact, more than anything. "Until then... it doesn't matter if I lash out or not." And he shifts, at that, until he is more sprawled than laying, and his arm stretches limply out towards the bars of his cage.   
  
There, far too pale and ugly against his fair fur, lies his brand.   
  
Such a deceivingly simple little thing. Like all the brands this church seems to use to mark its undesirables, it is in the form of a diamond: all sharp angles and unforgiving straight lines. That part is white, and stands out sharply against the dark fur of his wrist. This cruel and unnatural white that scars his skin. Within that white, two symbols, pitch black and devoid of fur. He does not know if they mean anything: one a simple thick line following the flow of his arm, the other almost like an axe's head.   
  
He supposes it doesn't matter. He knows what this mark means, in its place on his wrist: he is the church's lapdog, their weapon, a tool they can keep controlled and aim where they need to.   
  
Well. It isn't as though they need to control him more often than not in the ring, not when it comes to his morbid _purpose_. He goes into wild states all on his own, whether or not they prompt him to it.   
  
"Well, by that logic, none of us will be here forever," Claude says, a touch dryly, although his gaze flickers down to the brand when Dimitri offers view of it so boldly. His eyes return to Dimitri's face in the end. "I meant that you're resigned to not getting out of here before that happens."   
  
"It would never happen," he says, bland and certain in equal measure. That's just simple fact. It doesn't even hurt anymore, a fact that he has had so long to adjust to. No, if there's anything that stings at him... Dimitri narrows his eye. "I tried," he says, voice low, a rumble tearing at the edges of it. The memories tear at the edges of it. "I was younger, and _tried_. You know _nothing_."   
  
But how could he? How could he know of the multiple attempts Dimitri had made to scramble up the side of the execution walls as though freedom lay upwards? How could he know of the many clumsy attempts to speak that language only earned him punishment and pain? How could he know anything?   
  
Without connecting explicit thought to explicit action, Dimitri's lips curls up again over his fangs. "There is no point trying to _escape_. I learned that a long time ago, just like I learned, eventually, that the only goal I will ever be able to reach, the only thing I will ever be able to do for those of my family who died long ago, for those who have died under harsh light and my harsher claws, for _myself_... is to take down one of my captors before they put me down like a wild animal." Snarling? Smiling? Dimitri is not sure what his own mouth is doing, besides speaking. "I look forward to the day that I can sink my teeth into the throat of whatever important human I can reach."   
  
Perhaps this makes him a- the word escapes him. Either way, he may have no place to judge Claude. Dimitri knows that this plan of his, this goal, this dream - it is a form of death seeking as well. But he has nothing else. He has nothing left.   
  
Those thoughts, the memories that drove in just how trapped he is in this place - they're far from pleasant. In fact, they're downright tiring, and Dimitri finally curls in on himself again with his limbs kept close. His tail flicks around his body, as though it could be any kind of shield. "...I would have thought the last killing night to be a proper example for you, but it appears that it was not. Stay long enough. You will see the worst of how I can act eventually."   
  
Dimitri is well aware of how he can get, after all, there in the killing ring. Some days, he is exhausted, and easily forced back into his bonds, dragged into the tunnels and halls which lead back to his cage, although he is often forced underneath running water to clean the blood from his person first. But other days... Other days, the adrenaline runs too strong, or his anger is too great, or he is just... lost in his own violence.   
  
Those are the days when his handlers have to really _fight_ to drag him back. A misfortune, honestly, that their magic allows them luck in this area. Dimitri suspects, from the roars of the crowd when this happens, that it's half the appeal.   
  
Throughout all of that, Claude stays quiet, and just listens. Faintly, Dimitri can remember a young boy doing the very same thing when he would try to explain a concept to him in Voali. As though he were gathering pieces of a puzzle, scattered though it may have been, in preparation for putting it all together later. Maybe he really hasn't changed that much. Dimitri knows, to his despair, that he hasn't changed that much. Not like he has.   
  
Finally, Claude looks away - to the stars, again, and this time Dimitri allows his own gaze to be dragged along with his. He has looked out to the stars hundreds of times during his captivity; likely it has been many more times. Some nights, it was with a bitterness to his gaze, while other nights found him pained and aching. No matter when, the stars were always a reminder of somewhere he would never be again. Of _people_ he would never see again.   
  
Yet somehow, the view is completely changed with the simple addition of Claude's profile, moonlight following the curve of his nose and losing itself in the dark of his hair. Just Claude, sitting there against the bars of Dimitri's cage.   
  
Oblivious to the change he has made, Claude quietly speaks up. "You know... I remember when we were kids, and I always dreamed that I would bust us both out and I'd run away with you somewhere. Back to my homeland, usually... as though it were a few miles over." He chuckles quietly. "Man, the things I didn't know I didn't know back then.... I didn't have any idea just what it'd take to make that happen."   
  
The sight, the words, renew something in him, a nostalgic ache that makes his heart feel solid within his chest again. Dimitri's claws twitch, wanting to reach out....   
  
He slides his eyes shut, as if sight alone is the only temptation he has to fight against. As if he is not too late to fight against the ache taking root in his lungs, when it had begun the second Claude had reached his hand so helplessly through the bars of his cage. "You'd say that," he says, perhaps suddenly. "I used to see you all the time, like before... And you would always give such promises. The number of times I fell for such a specter..."   
  
Finally, he gives in. He gives into his longing, and the soft temptation lying only a short ways from him. His hand sneaks out, arm stretching easily across the gap that lies between him and Claude.   
  
Claude does not wear very loose clothing, he's noticed, not like the very important humans of the church whose clothing drapes and flows. The first day, he had been very practical: clothing with no sleeves, tied tight to his body, boots that reached up along his legs, the bright red accentuating every little bit of him. Tonight, for reasons he does not know, his clothing is a little looser. His belt of cloth has an end which lays upon the ground, bulges just slightly through the bars of his cage and rests there in the awkward gap.  
  
Dimitri doesn't grab it like he has grabbed so many other things before, hard and with his palm curled tight around it, an iron grip that demands tearing and breaking. He doesn't pinch it between his fingers, clawtips too sharp to do anything but puncture through such thin and delicate material. All he does is... touch. A simple touch, the pads of his fingers resting against the bright red fabric so that it is gently pinned between his touch and the metal of his bars.   
  
A simple touch. A simple... connection to what is real. This is no illusion of his mind. No trick of ghosts. It may be a lot of things, foolish most of all... but it is real.   
  
Claude does not look down at where Dimitri's fingertips touches his belt. He doesn't know, he's pretty sure, but... his smile seems softer, somehow, under the light of the moon and stars. "Did I promise you a lot of things as a kid?" he asks, not looking down. "Or was that some hallucination of me? We talked about so many things back then that I can't remember all the specifics."   
  
"The hallucinations." Dimitri rubs his finger gently against soft cloth. It's better quality than the pants or cloth belt that he himself wears. Softer. Not so worn or uncomfortable. "I tried to kill you, once." This is likely not a reassuring thing to hear, but the truth is not a thing that is meant to be reassuring. Dimitri's voice is mild, low, unchanging. "You were always promising me things I couldn't have... Or asking questions all the time. And you never changed..."   
  
Not like Dimitri did. Not like how he grew bigger, and more violent, and broken, even as he was locked away in this too small cage. Dimitri does not think he has changed for a long while, now... but he has changed, permanently, compared to the small boy he used to see on the other side of the bars.   
  
Claude has also changed permanently, now, because he is not that fake illusion who had stayed perpetually a child. His jaw has grown stronger, highlighted by soft silver light; Dimitri can still see it with his eyes shut. "Promising you things I didn't make happen... Now that doesn't sound like me at all," he says. "Does that mean some ghost of me is what killed your hope?"   
  
A low snort escapes him; it would certainly have been easier if something like that had happened. "Hope doesn't last long in this place. Not in this cage, not in this church, and not in this blasted city." They all _spawned_ each other, after all. He knows nothing of this city's history, not the fine details, but he knows that to be _fact_. Without the church, there would be no city. There would likely be no cage. There would be no people, and there would be no blood.   
  
His hallucinations of Claude were... What were they, in the end? He's not sure. Reassurance? Something to lash out at? He's never really pondered it before. Never had the time, or eventually inclination, to ponder it. He hadn't ever thought it important.   
  
There's a beat of silence, of absorbing words, before Claude speaks again. "Sorry for the pain I caused you... even if it was a hallucination of me that did it."   
  
"If you apologize, then you act as though it was no hallucination at all." Dimitri shifts, pulling his hand back and opening his eye to take stock of Claude once more. At some point in their exchange, at some point when Dimitri had his eye closed, Claude himself moved. It's not much, his head simply sideways as though he were glancing sidelong at Dimitri... but his eyes are closed, lashes curved along his cheeks. Dimitri closes his own again as well. "...You are in no rush this time as well, then?"   
  
"I've gotten a feel for the guards' patrol routes already." Something teases at the borders of his voice, light and confident. Dimitri can tell without looking that Claude is smiling again; it's the same tone he's used before. "I've got another ten minutes or so before I should be gone."   
  
It's only been a day and a night, and he's learned already? That _is_ quick. Dimitri doesn't want to give him credit for it. "Prepared well for more petty theft, I see." He doesn't think he remembered _petty_ before. A little kernel of pride tries to take root in his chest. Dimitri lets it.   
  
"Naturally!" There's a kind of fakeness to Claude's tone, an insincerity, a smile. "I'm hurt you'd think me so incompetent, Dimitri!"   
  
"You saw me bite through bone, and then shoved your hand into my cage with impressive disregard."   
  
"I never said I wasn't _reckless_." Claude's laughter bubbles out of him, seems to fill the courtyard, fill _Dimitri_. Almost reluctantly, and unfortunately only almost, Dimitri opens his eye to meet those brilliant green ones. The smile is on his face just like he thought it would be. "Just not _incompetent_. They're different words for a reason, you know."   
  
Dimitri scoffs. "The difference between them is less separate than one would think." No matter what Claude tries to argue, all of this - and _that_ initial display most of all - is still foolish. Still... asinine, yes. It's asinine. Even if it has not yet ended in a bad result, it's still asinine.   
  
Another quiet laugh is all Dimitri gets in response, as if _he_ is the one talking nonsense and not Claude. It's almost in contrast to the way he cocks an eyebrow, sharp and quick, amused. "You still haven't complimented my Voali, by the way," Claude says. "But, you know, in your own time."   
  
Laying down to the ground like he is, his stomach should not have any lower to go. Yet Claude's words force it to drop, and Dimitri looks away at them. It's not that he has not noticed. It's not that he has not thought it impressive. He has recognized Claude's impeccable Voali since the second his old friend came to him the night before, where it sounded almost more natural on his tongue than Dimitri's.   
  
How is he supposed to feel about that? He does not know. Should he even want to ask about the places Claude learned Voali in, _who_ he learned it from that was not Dimitri? He does not know.   
  
He shouldn't _want_ to know, Dimitri knows that. What good would knowing do him? He cannot go to the places Claude has been, and cannot speak to the people he has spoken to. How long has he spent recovering from that loss, and the knowledge of that loss? All that time and effort and grief, put to waste by a single question...   
  
A question he asks now, unable to stop himself, to the lukewarm and still air in front of him instead of to Claude. "Where did you learn it...?"   
  
Claude answers anyway. "I've done a lot of traveling for my work, you know. Getting supplies and information... Sometimes, what the church wants isn't around here. They don't exactly like leaving their little circle of influence they have going on." Despite what he keeps trying to tell himself, trying to stop himself, Dimitri shifts his head to look back at Claude again. One of those lovely shining smiles that comes from some deep well inside of him is on Claude's face to greet him.   
  
What else can Dimitri do in the face of that smile, and from more information that he knows Claude never got a chance to teach him? He sits still, and listens as Claude continues on.   
  
"Outside of this particular religious offshoot, after all, humans and Voa co-exist peacefully and commonly. They recognize each other as equals. So as soon as I first went to those places, could find out where they were... I made it a point of interacting with as many Voa as possible, and learning as much as I could from them. I got fluent at bartering with them, especially." Claude laughs, and Dimitri realizes he's sat up, leaned forward. When did he do that?   
  
Claude doesn't lean forward. He's still against the bars, already as close as he physically can be, and bright. "And believe me, if you've ever tried bartering in a second language you'll find out just how quick and how good you can get at it if you want a decent deal." He winks, as if Dimitri would have any idea on this sort of experience he's reference. Dimitri nods, as if he does. "Voa are great, but merchants are merchants no matter where you are. So, I learned fast." And Dimitri nods again, still quiet. Still listening.   
  
Because this is still the boy he used to see so regularly, with that insatiable curiosity demanding answer after answer from Dimitri that he had in turn gladly struggled to give. Of course that boy would have leapt onto the first opportunity he could wrest from the church to venture out of it, with their foolishly given permission, so that he could dig up more answers for himself. This is the same boy who had slipped away from his own handlers to talk with something that was a monster, that would become a monster... No, this is not surprising at all.   
  
His hand shifts - Claude's hand shifts, settling against the bars, settling in that gap where his belt bulges out. Where Dimitri had laid his own fingertips. Dimitri's eye follows it, a quick darting glance down before returning to Claude's face, his voice. "I taught you our language, so I wanted to learn more of yours," he says, smile fading gently with every word. A faded imitation of its own self. "Part of me used to think about surprising you with how much better I'd gotten, if I ever found you again... But, if I'm honest, another part of me never held out any hope for that. Still, it felt like - when I was learning, I could at least still _pretend_ you were alive."   
  
With what he had known of Claude, even when he had been a child, it had not been a surprise that he had searched out ways to speak Voali. It had not been a surprise that he can now speak it so easily. Dimitri, thus, should not be surprised... and yet the feeling still weighs heavy in his gut, leaves his mouth opening wordlessly before he closes it despite how patiently Claude is looking to him. Waiting for a response.   
  
All this time - maybe not _all_ of it, no, but perhaps a good deal of it, ever since he was taken from that room and put into a cage, Dimitri has thought ill of all humans. Even Claude. He had thought many things, few of them kind, a few of them pessimistic. Yet Claude had...   
  
Somehow, he rather suddenly feels sick, and Dimitri looks away. He resolves himself to look away. Then again, he had resolved himself not to reach out and touch Claude's belt, too. Claude, who is still watching and waiting for a response patiently. "I can not say the same," Dimitri finally manages, the words at last making sense in his head and fortunately coming out properly on his tongue. It occurs to him a second later that he should clarify, even if he is not sure he _needs_ to, and he adds, "In regards to... Fodlish." The language of humans.   
  
That is not to say he knows _nothing_ , that he has retained nothing, after all this time. Claude had taught him simple enough things, back when they were children, and those had all been easy enough to remember.   
  
Dimitri had asked questions in turn, remembering things the human adults had said and echoing them clumsily to Claude later on, with mixed results on answers received. He's retained enough that he has a rough idea of what things his guards and handlers occasionally talk about, although it is not always easy.   
  
Yet he has not had Claude to speak to. Yet the other humans viewed him as a deceiver even with innocent questions. Yet he has never had any reason to continue speaking it aloud himself.   
  
It does not feel fair, to have retained so little while Claude has learned so much. Yet he does not seem to hold it against him. "That's fine," he says instead. "It's been a long time since anyone's taught you anything, right?" When Dimitri glances back at him again - his resolve truly means so little now - Claude's smile is back to something a little more shining again instead of faded. "Maybe we could take up those lessons again. You don't _have_ to, if you don't want to, but it'd be something to do." His eyes glimmer, all teasing and mirth. "You could insult the guards in something they'd understand!"   
  
"In the past, they have only thought me up to _tricks_ ," Dimitri says, rolling his eye and certain the little gesture isn't seen. His tail swishes from side to side - almost a snap in its quickness. "It would only be a waste of your time."   
  
"I don't think so." Of course he wouldn't be dissuaded. If anything, Claude seems even more pleased about something, even as he shrugs. "Time spent with you doesn't feel wasted, no matter what I'm doing. How could teaching you things feel wasteful?"   
  
There's an obvious answer here. It's so obvious that Dimitri begins to knead his claws into his palms, and has to stop himself. "It wouldn't be put to use," he says slowly, using more control than he feels he's needed to use outside of the killing arena in... Mm. "There's no _reason_ for it to be put to use." There are words underneath his words, an - _insinuation_ that he knows Claude is more than smart enough to pick up on: _And you should know that_.   
  
"Even if it isn't, so what?" Claude presses. "Teaching something you _want_ to know still has value. And unless you wanted to learn, there'd be no point in teaching you, so that's the only way it'd happen, right?" In other words, the only way teaching would not be worth it is if Dimitri _himself_ said he did not want to. While this is forced to sink into Dimitri, Claude looks back up to the sky. To the stars. "It wouldn't be a waste," he repeats quietly, like it's important. "Besides, you never know what tomorrow might bring."   
  
"It's been easy to know for years, now," Dimitri murmurs, but he's almost not even really thinking of his own words. Instead, his gaze has drifted downwards, away from Claude's illuminated face, and towards his own anxiously kneading claws.   
  
Does he want to learn? It feels like a question sprung on him - what is he talking about? It _is_ a question that has been sprung on him, a choice he never expected to make, just like all of Claude's existence right there on the other side of his cage's bars.   
  
Somehow, all of this feels like a terrible mistake. It feels as though he is being blindfolded somehow, and expected to walk forward while waiting for the sudden drop of a cliff. If he could just detail to himself _why_ he feels this so strongly...  
  
Because that's his _only_ argument to the fact that he is absolutely and mind-numbingly _bored_. There is nothing to do within his cage; it's a fact he has ignored for many years. Most of his life, in fact.   
  
What else could he do about it? He's run, and done exercises he can faintly remember being taught by a family friend, and he's practiced moves against old matches that have long since played out like they always play out. Mostly, he does a lot of sleeping. He did planning, for a short while, planning that had nothing to do with _his_ escape, but he's stopped doing that. All of that is all he can do, stuck in a cage with a blanket and a chamber pot and occasionally trays of food that taste nothing like what Claude brought him.   
  
But now there is Claude. There is Claude, filling up such an enormous courtyard with just his tiny person. Filling up Dimitri's _world_ with just his person. Dimitri is loathe to admit it, but he cannot deny that his day has been so much more obvious in its dullness after the prior night's events. Claude had been right: it would be something to _do_ , and something to do in the daytime when Claude is not about.   
  
It still feels as though it will hurt something, hurt _him_ , but... Dimitri blinks, realizing how much time has passed. It's too small an amount of time for the position of the moon to tell him anything at all, so he doesn't bother to look.   
  
Instead, he just relies on his gut, and looks to where Claude is still lounging so contentedly against the bars of his cage, stars reflected in his eyes. "A guard is supposed to come around soon, yes?" The first words are barely out of his mouth before Claude jolts, relaxed to harried before Dimitri's heart can finish its latest beat.   
  
Before he can finish blinking, Claude is on his feet. "Shit - yeah, you're right." He brushes himself off, quick and as quiet as one possibly can be. Hands patting against cloth, a ghost of a sound, isn't something that gets past Dimitri's ears... but he's fairly certain that a human's ears will not catch it, not when the sound is otherwise swallowed up by the vastness of the courtyard. "I'll be back the next night, alright? Well, the next night out of the three, I don't know which it will be yet. Don't get yourself into too much trouble before then, got it?" Claude is already moving, a light silent trot across the courtyard that is a tad faster than the way he first approached Dimitri. "I want you to still be here when I come back!"   
  
He's gone, vanished into shadows and night time, before Dimitri has a chance to respond, or tell him that whether he is here or not isn't something that's exactly in his control. Gone before Dimitri can tell him that's quite something to hear, from a man stealing from church pantries. Dimitri suspects Claude would roll his eyes again if he'd gotten the chance to hear.   
  
Instead, he stays where he is, half curled up on the ground. At least, he stays like that for a little while. Dimitri isn't sure for how long; time occasionally blurs and becomes meaningless. But it is still night, still dark, and that's all he really needs to know before he unfurls himself.   
  
Even with Claude's absence, he can still tell which gap in the bars was a temporary home for that simple red cloth belt. There is no need for him to reach forward. There is nothing there, now. Dimitri reaches anyway, grinding the pad of one finger against metal. It is not much warmer than it was before Claude arrived, he thinks. He can only _think_ , can only guess. When was the last time he touched the metal bars of his cage? His prison?   
  
Words are not a physical thing which he can roll in his mouth, like a bit of hard bread, or a shattered fragment of bone. Dimitri tries regardless. He arches it up against the roof of his mouth, presses until his tongue is bulging against his fangs like a bloated thing. He digs the tip down, feels where itself is connected to _him_ self. "Hi," he says, not in Voali, but a single little syllable from Fodlish. One of the things that Claude would say every day, when he used to visit him in a little room filled with sunshine from a single window.   
  
Realizing what he's done, Dimitri draws his mouth tight in his face, and forgoes his blanket as he instead curls up again on the hard ground. He closes his eyes - squeezes them shut, as though that can also smother the thoughts his brain had without agreement from the rest of him.   
  
They were foolish, after all. They are still foolish. He should give himself at least a day to find a good enough argument to refute them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, during the RP, Callie got really into looking up, like.... medieval food, or DnD fan food recipe type stuffs, all that, while playing out Claude determinedly pampering Dimitri. So you'll get to have fun seeing some of that pop up. 
> 
> Additionally, one of the artists for this project, Rose, posted one of her pieces on her twitter already! So if you want to skip all the way to the end for a slight idea of how this turns out.... Give some love this way: https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist/status/1372961673523441686
> 
> Plus, the lyrics behind not only this chapter's title, but also from the same song that this fic's title is from: 
> 
> "Can I get an amen?   
> This is for the misfits of creation   
> Take this as your holy validation   
> You don't need to have your celebratin'   
> This is our salvation"


	4. Versed In So Much Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly recruited for a quick job that will keep him out of the church's city, Claude doesn't think this will have much of an effect on Dimitri. It's not like Dimitri cares for him, right?

Dimitri is... difficult, at times, to get through. And Claude certainly tries, let there be no mistake.   
  
It's too soon to make any strong judgment calls, he reminds himself every time Dimitri ignores him, or seems more captivated by something going on in his cell that Claude can't see. The phrase "fugue state" comes to mind when Dimitri acts that way, although at least Claude's voice seems to stir him now and then. However, it's only "now and then".   
  
While he'd never call such a condition _fine_ , it works to Claude's advantage. He'd long ago made the decision that he had to keep his plans a secret from Dimitri. His old friend... hadn't even realized that he'd spoken aloud, had been under the impression he was simply thinking a thought he'd then abandoned before its completion. If Claude were to tell him of his plans, and Dimitri let them slip in a fit of haziness.... The only comfort he has about that possibility is that Dimitri seems to speak solely in Voali when he's talking to himself.   
  
No one in the church, at least this particular branch of it, speaks the tongue. Why would they? It's the language of "demons", of soullessness and sin. Start learning that and, why, you're on the path to becoming a heretic. A heathen, pagan, sinner. You know, someone with a working curiosity and functioning open mind who knows how to have fun.   
  
But Claude is a realist, and he knows there's a caveat to that comfort of his: Dimitri only speaks Voali _to his knowledge_. No one here knows Voali _to his knowledge_. There are a lot of things he can't be 100% certain of right now... and thus, he keeps his plans to himself, still messy sketches forming in his mind that they may be. After all, the best kept secret is one only you know.   
  
On the bright side, Dimitri seems to adjust a little more with every night that Claude visits him, all in a row throughout the majority of the week. He wakes up a little more, focuses on Claude instead of favoring whatever he sees in his mind.  
  
Maybe the execution was a factor, Claude theorizes later on as he flicks through the library books in the hazy sunlight of soon-to-be-noon. No matter how many times Dimitri has done that sort of thing before, there's a weight to taking a life... and the Dimitri he can remember bouncing about in his room, trying to find the exact thing that would get across his meaning as they learned each other's tongue? That Dimitri had been far too soft for this kind of violence.   
  
His fingers start to grind into fragile paper, and Claude stops himself. Alternatively, his appearance alone was enough to throw Dimitri off the balance he'd established for himself after years of being an executioner, with no one who would bother to reach out for him. It had been a shock to Claude, too, to see just how Dimitri had ended up. Being on the other end... Yeah, that could throw anyone off, put Dimitri in shock. Claude lets loose a slow breath.   
  
There's a lot he still has to learn: about the guard patrols, about who has secrets he can hoard or flaws he can exploit, the layout of the entire church, how to keep people off his trail for at least a short while when he finally succeeds... But one step at a time.  
  
A plan worth doing is worth doing _carefully_ , to ensure there's as little room for error as possible. It's been his whole plan for as long as he can imagine, pulling the curtain on the church, both to the world and to itself... but he'd never have imagined trying to break out an executioner like this.   
  
Well. He'll make it work. Claude reminds himself of this, finger following a line of words. There's no question about _that_ , at least, even if he has a million other questions waiting for him in the wings.   
  
"Claude!" Roused out of his own many troubles, he puts on a relaxed smile when he looks up to see who's calling his name. It's one of the people that he went to go drink with, when Henning invited him - the woman who got sick and that he consequently helped. She looks much better than that night as she ducks away from a monk frowning at her loudness, all sheepish and smiling. Once she's close enough, she speaks in a much quieter whisper. "I didn't take a hunter like you for a bookworm."   
  
Cath, that's her name. He remembers from the round of introductions that had occurred about the fire. Claude winks. "Hey, if I'm going to be staying in town for a while, I should indulge in all the things I don't have access to on the road, right? It'd be silly not to do so otherwise."   
  
"It's true that your lot live a pretty rugged life..." She steps closer, looking over the books he has spread across his little table. "What're you reading, then?"   
  
The real answer is _nothing incriminating_. The answer that Claude gives aloud is, "I was looking into the architecture of this place, actually. It hit me just the other day that we have so many beautiful statues of the Saint, but I'd never really wondered about the devoted person who'd made them. And, well-" He laughs softly, so that the monk watching them with hawk eyes doesn't target him either. "I got a little lost in it all."   
  
"Huh, now you have me wondering... Wait-" She shakes her head. "I didn't mean to get caught up conversation - The Quartermaster is looking for you!. It looked pretty important."   
  
_Well_. That's either good news or bad news, and he can't tell which based on secondhand accounts. He pushes himself up. "I'd better go as quick as I can, then. Although I'll feel a bit bad about leaving all this mess behind, I hope that Brother Scowl over there understands..."   
  
Cath takes in a deep breath, the kind that Claude has long grown familiar with as various people around him have tried to hold back their laughter on whatever it is he's said. But she recovers quickly, smiling at Claude even friendlier than she was when she was drunk. Good. Friendliness really does do so much. "I'll take care of it, don't worry," she says. "Quartermaster Henning is why we have such good meals, so best to not keep him unhappy or waiting, right?"   
  
"Right," Claude agrees, chuckling, and just waves goodbye to her instead of giving his honest opinion that only the bread is really any good in this place. Bread and meat, with everything else being a coin flip on passable or bland torture. Besides, he doesn't have time to get into a deep discussion on how the church could really get over its idea that blandness and pain is somehow a sign of purity, and that the recipes and foods of anywhere past their lands is a sign of being possessed by demons. Even food from the main church!   
  
Like he said. It's a deep discussion... And he has more important things to focus on, which is ingratiating himself to people like the Quartermaster.   
  
Quartermaster Henning is where he always is on days like this: the stables near the storage building where all the goods are brought whether hunted or traded. His face is a stormcloud, gray in anxiety and aggravation, and it only eases up in relief when he turns around and sees Claude approaching.  
  
"There you are! I was starting to worry that you were off in some nook no one could find." Claude doesn't have a chance to respond at all; Henning keeps going. "I'll cut straight to the point. Someone else was meant to take a wagon over to a town a couple of ones over, but - well, they came down with fever, which would be one thing, and broke a leg when they fell down some stairs trying to soldier through."   
  
Claude clicks his tongue. "Reckless of them."   
  
Henning's groan says that he is well aware, and is probably going to ream the original driver in question the second they're coherent enough to understand words again. "At any rate, anyone else we'd normally use is unavailable, besides you. So I need you to go and do what they were supposed to. It'll probably keep you away from here for a few days at least..." Reaching up, Henning rakes his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I know you planned on staying in the city for a bit."   
  
Claude isn't surprised by this request coming to him of all people, even disregarding how everyone else is unavailable. Frankly, it's just how he likes it, and Claude smiles at Henning. "It's no trouble at all, Quartermaster. But with one caveat."   
  
With how his day has apparently been going, Henningalready looks exhausted as it is. "And what would that be?"   
  
"Treat me to dinner when I get back!" Claude says, laughing brightly, and feels satisfied when he sees Henning's expression lighten as well. "I was looking forward to my meal tonight!"   
  
"Do a good job on this task, and we'll see," Henning says, indulging him with the faintest of grins. "Now hurry and go get what you need from your room. The wagon and horses should be prepared when you get back."   
  
Claude doesn't need to be told twice. He hurries off, already thinking of all the things _he_ personally could use in town, where to find them. If he can arrange his trip just so, it won't look entirely suspicious if he arrives in the dead of night. That way, he doesn't have to talk to people much here in town. You know, make it easier to slip his own things out of sight and back to his room. Books banned from the church library, some tools to replace what's worn out in his hunting pack, see what's in the marketplace just in case it gives him any ideas on how to get Dimitri out of here-   
  
His hands are in the middle of shoving things into his pack when he thinks of Dimitri, and Claude swears quietly in his head. Damn.... This is going to be him leaving Dimitri all on his own for the first time since he arrived in town. Somehow, that feels a little.... unfair, to his friend. He's already been alone for so long...   
  
Taking a deep breath, Claude centers himself and continues packing. No, this is important. Not only is he getting things that are going to be good for him, and will hopefully be good for Dimitri someday soon, but he's making himself invaluable to the nitty gritty of the church and its city. The things he plans on doing.... Well, before, when he'd only really been thinking of himself and the rest of the world, he'd been focused on the higher ups of this branch. They even listen to him now, _sort of_ , well, not at all, really.   
  
It's complicated. On one hand, Claude is one of the most disposable people people in this whole city, of that he has no doubt. After all, he's just a kid that they picked up from people who were so much less enlightened than _they_ were, a kid they thought they could save from himself and his blood.  
  
But he's not really one of them. Claude knows that, even as much as people like Henning and Cath might be oblivious to this simple fact of life. So he's more than once had a priest or a bishop or any other person higher up than him on the food chain ask him to do something that they would _never_ inflict upon one of their own, or that they would dirty their own hands with.   
  
In that way, Claude reflects grimly, him and Dimitri are the same. If it is not something from the church, if _they_ are not from the church, well... The results speak for themselves.   
  
But that means he has more dirt and knowledge on the priests than he does on his fellow low level "devotees", Claude has to admit. That was his own fault; he thought too big instead of considering the little details that make up the whole. Perhaps he wasn't entirely _wrong_ in doing things like that initially, with what he wants to do, wants to accomplish, but the small details are important too.  
  
He can't forget that... and that first step means doing things like making friends with Henning, and people like Cath, and maybe even that kid they were all ragging on who did guard duty not that long ago.   
  
Anyway... Claude smiles automatically at Henning when he gets back, the wagon indeed prepared, and immediately heads off onto the road. As he does, he glances back at the city, the gates shuddering closed behind him. Dimitri... will probably be fine, honestly.  
  
Why wouldn't he? He's been spending time on his own for _years_ now, in that shitty cell. By this point it must be absolutely mundane, even if there is an inherent misery to it when one has the full context. Claude will frankly be honored if his absence is noted at all, and that Dimitri doesn't just sleep through the days he's gone.   
  
Away from the city, past the bits of farmland that stick close to the city walls, a wry smile forms on Claude's lips. Yeah, it'd be an honor, alright... or maybe just something a lot more soft instead. But he doubts it.   
  
  
  
  
  
...Claude isn't coming.   
  
Dimitri realizes it when... Honestly, he's not sure when. Time is not something he has the ability gauge, exactly, by the minute or the hour. Time just passes, and Dimitri a helpless passenger in its throes. But Claude has always visited, these past nights, even with Dimitri somewhat oblivious to his presence at times. Even when he feels trapped within himself.... He knows that Claude is there with him. So he's expecting him, even if he is not _waiting_ for him, curled up in his cage.   
  
Time passes. He is dragged along with it. Staring at the ceiling, and the walls, soon becomes boring. His gaze goes to the courtyard. Still empty. His gaze goes towards the night sky, devoid of moon now from what he can see.   
  
The meaning of that does not hit Dimitri immediately. It takes him a few seconds, seeing nothing but empty void. But then something about the prior normalcy, the adjustment to his schedule and his life that he was just getting used to, finally hits him.   
  
Claude has showed up at Dimitri's cage at an exact time. Or, there was never an exact time that _Dimitri_ could tell. But Dimitri has always kept track of the stairs that have shifted overhead, the path of the moon... and Claude had always made sure to arrive before the moon disappeared out of sight.   
  
Dimitri goes still. It feels as though every little piece of him, from his heart to his toes, goes still upon this realization. How... is he supposed to feel about this development, exactly? He had first thought, upon Claude's first visit, that the man would disappear soon enough. That he hadn't meant it when he said that he would stay by Dimitri, would rekindle the friendship neither of them had a say in keeping as children. Or perhaps he would get captured - has been captured, for thieving, or sneaking, or any number of things.   
  
He doesn't know how to feel about any of those possibilities.   
  
Without thinking on what _exactly_ he wants to do, Dimitri pushes himself up. A low growl rumbles forth from his throat. Somehow the courtyard seems far too quiet, and he cannot tell just what has made it so. But there will be no one else filling it with sound for many hours yet.  
  
Not until someone comes forth with his meal for the morning, and then takes the remnants away so that he does not throw them at the monks and guards and others. That isn't good enough. That's too far in the distance. All that can make noise in the courtyard is himself.   
  
And so he proceeds to make just that.   
  
At first, it's simply muttering. Listening to Claude speak to him all these nights has made him - remember things. Nothing like his childhood, or places, or anything like that.  
  
Just - words he had forgotten he had forgotten. Phrases he could recall hearing his father say, or an older friend mimicking from a friend's older brother. Claude is so fluent, now.... Sometimes, when Dimtiri closes his eye, it's almost as if he's not talking to a human. It's almost as if there's another Voa on the other side of the bars... but that seems worse, sometimes, and so he always inevitably opens his eye again.   
  
Those are the words he mutters to himself, tongue folding around familiar syllables in what had been once unfamiliar words. They make their home in his mouth again the more he repeats them. Some of the phrases, the words, they're just things he says, but different, now, more informal.  
  
There's a distant ping in the back of his head - it's rude to speak like that. He can almost imagine one of his parents scolding him on it. Not a hallucination, just - a nagging feeling, a sense of nostalgia and deja vu, old memories of how he shouldn't mimic his friends no matter how they act....   
  
They only last so long, these fragments of Voali, of home, that he cradles in his mouth and against his tongue. He tries the language Claude had tried to teach him so long ago, those fragments of Fodlish, but there's not enough. He doesn't remember enough. Dimitri's pace starts to quicken, strengthen, and he finds some petty satisfaction in the way his claws drag or his feet stomp against the ground. It sends an impact through his legs, up to his body, and that- that is something. It is not sound, it does not feed the lack of _anything_ , but it is something.   
  
His pace quickens. Dimitri flings himself against the walls of his cage - palms smashing against stone that doesn't yield, feet kicking out at metal bars. His tail snaps through the air, again, again, again, until it hurts. Dimitri doesn't notice. The courtyard is too _quiet_ , now, and he - how did he stand it for so long? Bile burns at the back of his throat, with no weight to back it. He's withstood it for years, what _changed_?  
  
None of this feels normal. Lungs burning, mouth panting, Dimitri starts to race throughout his cage. Shoulder to bars, fists to walls - the adrenaline makes him feel something, however shallow those feelings might _be_. But it's a lot of noise he's making, more than the gentle whispers which filter from Claude's lips to the gaps of his cage to his ears.   
  
At first he thinks he's drawn his illusions back to him, noises tugging at his ears that he knows cannot exist within his cage. They're all around him, at his side, behind him, volume never changing despite where he goes within his cage - and it is not a small thing they have provided him, at least not in terms of pacing. But then there is something before him, language, words, and Dimitri whirls around with his teeth bared.   
  
One of the words had been _stop_ , and the culprit is the one of the humans that passes by so regularly every night. Guard. He knows that words. In Voali and - Fodlish, yes. He knows that word. And the person embodying that word right now is snapping at him, not quite yelling, not yet, valuing quiet still.   
  
Dimitri does _not_ value quiet. He shoves himself against the bars of his cage, yells at the top of his lungs, _roars_ , and he grins, manic - yes, _manic_ , a good word, sharp in his mouth and in his skull - when he sees the guard grimace at the sound. It is not pleasant. Good. _He_ is not pleasant. They have to deal with the consequences of what they have done, and that is _him_.   
  
The guard tries to order - familiar words, Dimitri knows this Fodlish well - and draws closer when Dimitri does not listen. In their church magic, there is a cruel light, and it brightens the courtyard in one sharp burst before settling in the guard's hands.  
  
A staff. Common, well used, familiar to Dimitri's body in the form of old bruises and the weight of it. The guard jabs it between the bars, right at him, but he is too slow. Dimitri is used to quicker movements than this, jerks back, smacks his hand out and laughs - loud, ugly, thick in his throat - when he sees the guard grimace. A staff rattling between metal is not pleasant; even he can tell that much.   
  
Eventually, the guard leaves, only to return a short time later accompanied by his handlers, by one of the faces he unfortunately knows all too well. Dimitri recognizes a fight, a struggle, violence against him, when it comes. Tonight, he does not mind.   
  
It fills the silence, the nothingness that has somehow become unfamiliar to him. That is all he could ask for. He does not bother to think ahead to the next night, or the nights after that.   
  
  
  
  
  
It takes a few good days for Claude to get back to - well, he'd never call it _home_ , but a temporary base, certainly. It had taken some time to get to the town that the church's goods were meant to arrive at, even with pushing the horses to their limits.  
  
It had been necessary, unfortunately. The ex-driver had wasted a lot of time that Claude had to make up for. When he'd arrived, well, there'd been all the handling of goods and money to deal with, and then there had been the trade of things the church wanted.   
  
Nothing on the list had been particularly interesting, frankly. What had been more important had been Claude using what scant amount of time he'd had to get some of the things _he_ wanted and needed, along with catching up with a few friends or informants. It hadn't been a lot of time for any of it... but Claude had used every single second to its fullest potential. He's gotten good at it.   
  
He's _also_ gotten quite good at managing his time to get him right where he needs to be at the exact time he wants to be there, which is why he arrives at the gates to the city after the sun has gone down. The guards at the gate acknowledge him with a grunt and a nod that quickly turn into smiles when he reaches back into the supplies to bring some "care packages" picked up from the next town over. Oh yes, it's all smiles and well wishes then, once food gets brought into the equation.   
  
Well, it's not as though he can blame them, Claude supposes, waving goodbye to the pair in their little station while he guides the horses into the city. It may have been a decent spring day earlier, but the nights can get chilly still, and they have a long dull night shift ahead of them. Probably didn't get hot food, either, and it was probably nothing special. Why not enjoy some cheese and sausages from the next town over? Maybe it'll help them realize there's better food out in the world. And maybe that will have them realize there's a world out there worth looking into.   
  
As he expected, Quartermaster Henning isn't at the storage building when he gets back. There is a girl instead, likely put there just in case he came back late - which he did. Another smile, this time in the face of a small bag of roasted pumpkin seeds that he waves off as something extra that he was lucky enough to get. Oh, people like the special feeling of having something specifically _bought_ for them, of course... but it's a bit much when he's still not someone close.  
  
In contrast, something free that he makes a show of liking and eating before he offers a separate bag? It makes a little more "sense" to a person, while still being flattering and pleasant. When one gets something easily and likes it, they tend to hoard, after all.... So _not_ doing that, being generous, well, the girl says it herself as she accepts the bag: "I didn't know you were so nice, Claude. Thank you."   
  
There's some encouragement to come work with the trading wagons some more, but Claude sidesteps giving a direct answer. Instead, he laughs, misdirects, and takes his leave saying he'd like to go straight to bed after so many "hiccups" on the way back.  
  
He'd long ago thought of some fun creative tales that he could raise up as a defense, but this girl doesn't ask, just tells him to have a nice night as she takes care of the wagon. Claude volunteers for the horses, not only to add to the reputation he's carefully cultivated in general (now in further detail) but because, well... He genuinely likes horses. What can he say?   
  
He really does head straight to the lodging area, too. He really _is_ tired. Someone, like usual, is manning the little area before the bedrooms, and they direct him to one that's empty. It's the exact mirror image of the one he'd left: similar bed, similar desk, exact same layout. Maybe that should be comforting. Instead, Claude can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle upwards in - in a lot of things, really. A lot of feelings. Unfortunately, none of them are good.   
  
In contrast to what he told the guards, the girl at the storage building, the person in charge of church lodgings - Claude doesn't go to sleep. Instead, first order of business is taking out his pack. With the wagon having been given the clear for having everything it needed, and everyone distracted by friendliness and good ol' fashioned food, no one had even thought to think about Claude's own belongings.  
  
Just as he likes it. Maybe no one would have bothered anyway.... but Claude knows better than to assume. He knows people are more inclined to give him trouble.... so best to do everything in his power to circumvent it.   
  
If that's worth the price of some sausage, cheese, and a bag of pumpkin seeds, well, that's pretty cheap comparatively. Besides, he'd been planning on buying those anyway.   
  
Past the walls of his room, he can still hear life go on in the rest of the church. There's the sound of orphanage kids doing the last chores for the day, bringing water in and out for the dirty dishes that are coming from the bustling dining hall losing some of its fervor as workers and nuns and so many others filter back into the city and the lodging hall....   
  
Same schedule as always, listened to from a room that's basically the same as the one before it. The only things that are different would be him, the things he's packing, and the shape and position of the moon outside of his window. Claude wishes he could find a comfort in it like all the people who live here do, as he works at hiding some things and putting in plain sight others. When it's in the forest, the fields, he doesn't have this problem. Being out there is so much better than being in here.   
  
No towering buildings like prison bars. No gray stone and white clothing like a world blanch of color, save for red like so much blood spilled. No _stagnation_.   
  
This city, this church, this entire world needs a wind of change rushing through all of it, verdant and thriving. When he has some things stuffed in a bag smaller than his pack, and the city outside quiets into sleep, Claude slips out to bring about that first breath of it.   
  
Unfortunately, when he makes his way through the church and arrives at the courtyard, it's a breath he opts to hold for a brief moment. There, across the worn dirt path and pale moonlight of the training yard, Dimitri paces almost _violently_ in his cell. No, pacing is for other things.  
  
This is outright _running_ , with Dimitri not even bothering to stop himself as he reaches the end of his cage. Instead, he _slams_ into the brick walls as he meets them, the slap of his palms echoing in the small space. Behind him, his tail whirls like a whip with every turn back to repeat it again. Claude may be at a distance... but he can still hear the thrumming of Dimitri's growl, breathless and rough.   
  
A blind man could read Dimitri's agitation right now, and Claude has a few considerable advantages over one in that regard. He slows the quick pace he'd been using to make his way through the church, not so much cautious as measuring. He's never seen Dimitri this worked up before... Even when he'd annoyed the Voa, Dimitri had never flung himself across his cell like this before. It had just been a quick couple of paces, something to work out his frustration. What had gotten to him this bad...?   
  
Well, there's only one way to find out, he supposes. "Dimitri?" he calls out softly, once he's reached the bars. Yet however soft he tries to make his voice, it seems to cut through the air like a knife. Dimitri slams into one of the walls away from Claude one last time... but doesn't push himself away. Those long ears twitch. A good sign? Too soon to tell. "Are you okay?"   
  
In the back of his head, he wonders if any of the guards will be worried at either the loud noises from the "demon cage", or worried about the sudden silence more... But, no, he's pretty sure they won't bat an eye, not with how Dimitri apparently acts on the regular if the word around town is any indication. Claude figures he'll worry about it if it happens when it happens, for the time being.  
  
He has more important things to worry about for now, like the way Dimitri slowly turns his head to stare at him with one single wide eye.   
  
Is he looking at him? Where is he looking? With the structure of Voa eyes, it's impossible to tell. Dimitri still doesn't say anything.   
  
Smiling with an easy confidence that the rest of him does not remotely feel, Claude does the inadvisable and steps closer to the bars. "Sorry I was late!" he says cheerfully, even as he is increasingly aware of Dimitri's instability. It's been a couple of days of no contact; Claude can't even be certain that Dimitri so much as _recognizes_ him in the state he's in. The way he's looking at him... It doesn't inspire trust. Nothing normal is going on here, and "normal" had already been a warped value ever since Claude first visited him. Maybe something significant happened while he was gone...   
  
Well, he can only hope that whatever happened wasn't permanent, because his original conclusion still holds up: all he can do is act based on his hopes. If his fears are going to come true, he'll find out soon enough. He can't bear to entertain those possibilities until he's forced to.  
  
So he keeps smiling, reaching into his bag until he finds that small parcel of food. "I brought you some more food," he continues, because saying the obvious can't _hurt_ with Dimitri in who-knows-what kind of state. "Actually traded for this time! They sent me a couple of towns over."   
  
And he holds the package out inbetween the bars with a smile on his face.   
  
In this situation, he's the one most in danger. Sure, he has the same tattoos as so many "devotees" of the church do, as a lot of people beyond it do, and that allows him to channel energy into weapons... but he's still only human, here. Dimitri has a good couple of feet on him, claws, teeth - there's a reason the church uses him as an executioner, even if this sort of violence is something Voa culturally loathe.   
  
Yet in the way Dimitri slowly turns around, and the measured caution to his steps.... Claude has seen that before, out in the wild, out in cities bigger than this one. He's seen it from all sorts of animals, from prey to predator, the slow gait of something not entirely sure if it's _safe_. Humans tend to be a lot more complicated, individualistic, but animals? Animals don't see a reason to change something already doing its job well enough.   
  
He waits. What else can he do? Claude keeps the parcel held out, still smiling, patient and calm because he knows anything else could set Dimitri off. Dimitri takes his time, goes the more circular and around route instead of straight towards him... but he does get there, eventually.  
  
Right on the other side of the bars, it's a lot easier to read Dimitri's attention. If there's any luck in this encounter, it's that Dimitri is such a blessedly open book. His head stays tilted down, attention no doubt focused on the package. When he looks up at Claude - probably - his chin jerks just slightly upwards, head following, and then down again. Looking over him, maybe?   
  
But then Dimitri reaches over, hands hovering an inch away from the package before they finally close over the thin wax paper. Just like that - it all rushes out. Tension leaves his shoulders, making them slump down, and his stiff tail droops down loosely. Dimitri relaxes.  
  
Claude relaxes, too, heart no longer so painfully tight inside his chest. _Oh_. He watches Dimitri drop down easily into a sitting position across from him. He thinks he understands now, why Dimitri was so wary, why he had to touch something before he could relax.   
  
...For other visits, he'll have to keep that in mind, although Dimitri doesn't seem anywhere as violent now as before. Then again, Claude supposes as he sits across Dimitri on the other side of the bars, he put his hand within easy reach even when he was. Maybe he'll just continue as he has been, then. That sounds about right.   
  
As usual, Dimitri seems completely disinterested in starting up any conversation himself. Claude picks up the slack, because Dimitri rarely tells him to stop. "I was able to get you some really nice things this time," he says, all smiles. Now that he has some experience with the food that Claude has brought him, Dimitri seems to be making a little more effort in how to unwrap it. Claude watches as those sharp claws are pointed away, the pads of Dimitri's fingers working at the wax paper. It's nice to be reminded that he can be careful, and tender. "You know, since I had the freedom to go shopping without anyone asking why I needed it."   
  
Claude waits to see if that elicits a reaction at all. Dimitri seems to be more preoccupied with the strange shape of the wax paper. It's so much bulkier, all sorts of goodies shoved inside, more than whatever can be filched from the church kitchens. Even as much as he's trying to unwrap it, Dimitri pauses now and then, rolling the package in his palms to make out the shape of it. He'll take hope from that. Any curiosity, any reaction, is better than nothing.   
  
Yeah. Definitely better. Satisfied with that, making himself satisfied with that, Claude glances down at his fingers. One finger flicks up after another as he rattles off the list of food stuffs. "Smoked cheese, dried mushrooms, a whole beef sausage, some herb bread, roasted pumpkin seeds, some pickles... oh, and a little surprise for dessert." Claude winks. "And some more for tomorrow too!" He's quite pleased about that, honestly, and even more pleased that he's managed to store it away so that the smell doesn't attract any nosy critters.... or monks. So, same thing, really. "I _miiiight_ have gone a little overboard."   
  
Still nothing, but, as each second passes with the sound of crinkling paper and a stray claw tearing through it, Claude starts to suspect it's less because he's being purposefully ignored and because Dimitri is just genuinely struggling. When's the last time he's ever had to use _finesse_ with those massive claws of his? Even as Claude watches, Dimitri sticks out his tongue right in the center of his mouth, just the tip poking out.  
  
It draws a bit of realness to Claude's smile... and then, through a series of little mental hops, makes him realize something. Twisting about, he reaches into his pack again to dig through it. "Oh, yeah - hold on."  
  
The sound of paper ceases. No more crinkles, no more tears. It's not just a trick of the night's darkness that makes him feel certain that Dimitri is looking at him properly now, is it?  
  
Claude feels himself bolstered by this, before he's pulled out a canteen to hold out in offering to his friend. "I don't know how often the give you water, but, since I brought you so much food, you should at least have a drink to wash it down with." His shoulders roll in an easy shrug. "I can always get a refill." There's a water pump here in the courtyard, as a matter of fact.   
  
And there's Dimitri's gaze on him.   
  
As it had been when Dimitri had turned his head at the first sign of Claude's voice tonight, it's wide again, but... it's not so frenzied, or still. It's... _soft_ , uncertain in the wide curve of it, brows raised in gentle arches above it, mouth small beneath. There's only a second of hesitation before Dimitri reaches out, leaving the packet resting on his legs. Exactly like with the wax paper, he takes care to tilt his claws up and away from Claude's soft skin when he accepts the canteen.   
  
How small it seems in Dimitri's larger hands, even though Claude has always made sure to get large canteens of water for when he's out on the road. Dimitri turns it over a few times, inspecting it, before he glances back up at Claude. His mouth parts, and it feels as though Claude can almost see some vague form of words rolling in his mouth, behind his eye, but he can't see the shape of them. Not until Dimitri speaks, syllables foreign and awkward as he murmurs, "Thank.. you."   
  
Claude's heart stutters, warms, a fire igniting in its earth, even as he blinks for a second and takes in those two simple words. Because... That isn't Voali leaving Dimitri's mouth.   
  
It's Fodlish. The same Fodlish he'd taught to Dimitri a lifetime ago, when his friend had badgered him past a smaller set of bars to learn it.   
  
His surprise is momentary, gone in a second, and Claude finds his smile coming easier, more genuine, to his mouth. "You're welcome," he says, also in Fodlish, leaving Voali to the side for a brief moment. Just a moment.   
  
This.... It feels _right_ , the two of them communicating this way, slipping into one another's languages like a sweater shared between friends. It's exactly like the childhood in the church that Claude remembers, the _better_ parts of it, the parts that had kept him going for so long. It's more than anything else he's experienced since he's reunited with Dimitri, and now... Now he can do more for Dimitri than he ever could as a child. Company, always, but food, and hope, and.... one day, freedom.   
  
It's a good feeling, a _great_ feeling, and Claude wraps himself in it. Dimitri - well it's no surprise that Dimitri soon glances away in short order, his uncertainty obvious in every strand of fur. Besides, he still has the rest of the package to get through, although he's made good progress on it, honestly. A lot better than what he's done before, although the battle damage is unmistakable when Dimitri finally spreads it out against the ground with all of the food displayed on it. It's a delicate touch that one would never have connected with the vicious movements of earlier.   
  
All spread out are exactly the things that Claude listed for him - plus one more smaller wrapped package that Dimitri tilts his head at curiously. For the most part, however, he seems content to leave it alone, and looks back to the rest of the haul that Claude has brought for him tonight. Before, Claude would have thought he'd go right back to the same focused eating as usual, with maybe the occasional response to any of Claude's chatter if it was a fortunate night.   
  
But tonight... Tonight, things are different. He can already tell that, even before Dimitri finally raises his hand. "What... is?" he asks, still awkward in Fodlish as he points down and looks up at Claude from beneath his fur almost cautiously. It's the most he's ever reached out before, and they both know it.  
  
Claude mentally waves away any contemplative thoughts before they can get too deep. He's honestly too pleased with this development as it is to spare energy to them. Instead, he glances down to take stock of what exactly Dimitri is pointing at. "Mushrooms," he answers in Fodlish, before he switches back to Voali for some clarification. "That's the name for them normally, anyway. It doesn't specify that they're dried. For that, you'd say.." And another language switch. "Dried mushrooms."   
  
Dimitri's only response is a quiet nod. Answer now received and, hopefully, retained, he reaches down to take one of them for a taste. It's almost exactly like all of their encounters before when it comes to food, but Dimitri doesn't ignore Claude completely, now. Instead, he points to another piece of food, the sausage. "This?" he asks. And on they go.   
  
Exactly like the 'game' they would play as kids: point, inquiry, answer. At least there's a little bit more variety now than when they were kids. Then, they could only point at the door or the bars or parts of their body before they ran out of items to translate. After that, well, then they had to try and figure out more complex linguistics, like sentence structure. Claude likes to think he's always been a clever kid, but even he'd had been a bit of a struggle with that.   
  
Maybe it would have been better if they'd been able to continue this kind of game, back then: Dimitri pointing at a seed, Claude explaining that it's a seed, that it's been roasted as a description, that it belongs to a pumpkin. Then again, Claude has the advantage of knowing Voali now as well. He can translate as he needs to, instead of fumbling and guessing at meanings. Occasionally, Dimitri echoes him quietly under his breath, fumbling over the language that he once was starting to get a grasp on before all his efforts were washed away by ignorance and malice from other people.   
  
Perhaps, if they keep doing this, and if Dimitri keeps wanting to do it... He'll be back to speaking it decently again, instead of feeling the words in his mouth like they're a foreign intrusion.   
  
Eventually, just like the room of their childhoods, they run out of foods to practice Fodlish on. Dimitri goes back to eating quietly. Honestly, Claude feels like the night could end on that alone, and he'd be the happiest he's ever been in a long time.  
  
Yet the night is far from done, and there's apparently greater heights that progress can reach. Dimitri eventually glances up at him again, picking through the pumpkin seeds. "...Hunting again?" he asks, back in Voali once more.   
  
"Some," Claude agrees readily enough, because it's not untrue. Whatever plans the prior wagon driver had, they'd not been passed onto Claude... and, frankly, he'd probably have gone hunting on his own anyway, not only for his own meals. "It was actually more of a trade run for the church." He flicks his hand through the air. "Taking the things they made here there, and then trading them for things from other villages and towns. The hunting I did along the way was more for my own personal trading use rather than the church's - so I could get stuff like that."   
  
He nods down to Dimitri's meal, and winks. "I'm a good hunter - I'd even say great - " Dimitri idly snorts under his breath, and Claude generously doesn't call him out or tease him on it. " - and I'm a decent forager as well, but your meals would be pretty limited if it was just stuff I was able to gather. It's way more convenient to get whatever you can, whenever you can, in whatever amounts you can, and then trade those to the people who need them for whatever you may specifically want or need yourself."   
  
Dimitri takes a moment to absorb this, rolling a seed inbetween his claws carefully. "You seem to have made yourself... valuable," he says at last, deciding on a word before he pops a few more seeds into his mouth.   
  
While Claude wonders what made him decide on that opinion, well, Dimitri isn't wrong. "Of course." Claude smirks. "Making yourself too valuable to be easily gotten rid of is the first step in having the freedom to get away with things, you know. It's the kind of philosophy a lot of the higher ups in the church take." He folds his arms behind his head for a moment, lets his muscles stretch out. "Of course, my reasons for doing that are rather different... Plus I started out with something of a disadvantage, being an outsider."   
  
"Not a disadvantage for long..." It almost hardly seems as though it's directed to Claude at all, with the way Dimitri's attention is focused more on the chunk of cheese he's holding his hands. Carefully, he does what Claude has seen him do a few times as he breaks off a piece and then puts it to the side.  
  
Other food seems to start getting similar treatment, although it doesn't seem as though it's getting put aside. Just broken or sliced apart, with Dimitri using his claws in lieu of a knife. His intentions become clear enough as he starts trying different things together: sausage and bread, bread and cheese, sausage and cheese.   
  
That's another good sign, he thinks. Dimitri hadn't bothered to experiment like this before.   
  
So distracted by Dimitri's little tasting experiments, Claude almost forgets that Dimitri is still talking until the Voa finishes with, "Apparently, you have a talent for charming others."   
  
Claude doesn't think Dimitri has ever seen him interacting with members of the church before; he avoids passing by Dimitri's cell during the daytime because he can only stomach so much of this unpleasant sight even when Dimitri is all on his own. Besides, he has a lot of preparation to do for his plans of the future. But right, right... The first night he'd come by, he'd mentioned Quartermaster Henning dragging him to the execution.   
  
And now he has Henning relying on him for important last minute tasks, plus some more connections. "What can I say? I couldn't afford not to get good at that," Claude chuckles. "Honor and honesty are wonderful, virtuous qualities... but they're not so amazing when they don't work for you. When you're disliked and distrusted by default, using charm and guile to get by is pretty much your only option. I'd rather live ignobly than die honorably."   
  
"If those qualities existed, perhaps we wouldn't be as we are." Jaw clenched and brow furrowed, Dimitri begins to slice apart what's left of the sausage again. "As it is... That guile of yours only make chains of other people." He jerks his shoulders up. As he moves his hand, gathering different foods together, his executioner's brand catches the moonlight which glares between his bars. "But maybe that's an honesty, a truth, as well."   
  
In the back of his mind, Claude is reminded of other conversations between Voa, how they so wander towards the philosophical and such... but the rest of him is more confused than anything, and he furrows his own brow. "Chains?" he asks. "What do you mean?"   
  
"All of this - " Dimitri makes a dismissive gesture to the courtyard - no, not just the courtyard. The church as a whole. Maybe even more. " - is held up by that same philosophy, the one you claim as yours. A philosophy of guile and deception. What city has it crafted? I've never once seen it." He stabs his claw through a mushroom. "But I know the result. It is me. It is hordes of your own, lining up to see me slaughter another of theirs. Do the reasons matter when the result is what it is?"   
  
"Wow." Claude laughs, but it's strained, filtered through a heart and lungs that feel far too tight in his chest. He brings his hands down from where they'd been folded behind his head. "That's... sure a comparison to make, I guess. Not a particularly flattering one on my side of it, either..." He takes a breath, settles his heart. "That said... Not sure it's as accurate as you think it is."   
  
It's a little hard to look at Dimitri right now like this, or at least as he works his way through his thoughts, his experiences. Instead, Claude folds his hands beneath his chin with his gaze focused downwards. There's nothing to really distract himself with, just the dust outside of Dimitri's cage.  
  
"For one thing... I'd say that tricking people to overcome the unfair disadvantages they've put you at, or to achieve good ends - or both - is a little different from tricking people into believing things that help you hoard your power and punish people you hate. To say the least."   
  
But Claude isn't interested in saying only _the least_. He may love Dimitri dearly, want the best for his old friend... but he goes hard as he looks back up to him.  
  
"If we're asking pointed and somewhat painful questions, I guess it's fair game to level one at you. I remember how polite and well-behaved you were as a kid. Upstanding and well-mannered - definitely not anything like me. You wanted them to see you as a person, right? How far did that get you?"   
  
Dimitri doesn't shy away from his gaze, or the conversation. He just meets him with a bitter but settled stare. "Good as dead," he answers, without seeming happy about the conversation either. But not actively hurting... Claude isn't particularly surprised. He's been here for so long that one hurt likely can't be distinguished from another.   
  
While Dimitri starts to carefully put his food together on the wax paper, Claude shrugs. "Well, like you said - the result is what it is. And if the result is what's important, then what's better: a good result achieved by dishonorable means, or an honest failure? Are you telling me that you wouldn't have lied or tricked anyone if it had meant that you could have escaped this situation?" He gestures to Dimitri's cell, and smiles mirthlessly. "If you'd realized that being good wasn't going to _do_ you any good?  
  
"When you lose, you lose. And if the stakes are high enough, then it's not going to matter how you lost - only that you did. The only way to have any control at all in how things go is to win."   
  
Taking a bite of the tiny dried mushroom he's left on his claw, Dimitri speaks with it tucked into his cheek. Being an executioner instead of that sweet well-mannered kid really has changed a lot. "It seems to me," he says, still organizing his food with the mushroom on his claw, "that there is no success in either direction, no other result in a world where the only options to survive are your brand of trickery, or suffering."   
  
He finishes off the mushroom, making it easier to put together the foods he wants in the order he wants. "After all, you are still in a collar laid around your neck by the church, no matter how well you have managed for yourself. If our only 'wins' are being alive, then that does not seem worth half the effort." And with that, he pauses, having finished arranging his food into what looks like a tiny little sandwich.   
  
...He somehow seems pretty pleased about it, ears easing up from where they'd gone flat, and shoulders relaxing.   
  
Claude smiles, both because it's nice to see Dimitri able to enjoy _something_ , even with the conversation at hand, and because of something else entirely. "On the contrary - I'm still setting up for my win. That's part of what you get to decide, as a winner - not just how you're going to win, but what prize you're playing for. And the prize I'm aiming for... Well, I always knew it'd take a long time to get the pieces arranged to my satisfaction. I _am_ going to win. But when you start at the bottom of the pecking order, like we have..." Claude spreads his hands. "Well, you have to play it slow and careful."   
  
There's no understanding in Dimitri's gaze when he tilts his head up to glance towards him, ears twitching but not going one way or the other. Well, that's fine. Some of this is stuff that he's only referring to, things he's never once confided to another person before. But for the rest of it... There, Claude can only hope that Dimitri doesn't forget it, that he thinks on it further. That he changes his mind on - well, a lot of things.   
  
What to do with the barb in his own heart from Dimitri's comparison to him and the church? He'll... figure that out later, he supposes.   
  
For now, he buries it. For now, he leans forward with one leg drawing upwards, chin resting against his knee, arms wrapped around himself. Just to watch Dimitri, watch him. Ha... It reminds him of how he'd sit outside Dimitri's door, years ago. He'd listen to his friend fumble through Fodlish, mixing Voali in with it when he had to ask Claude for a certain word he didn't know.   
  
He wonders how much of that Dimitri remembers. It had been so important to him...  
  
"That said," he murmurs, as Dimitri goes back to his food, "I don't think your way of doing things is doomed to failure, either." Claude lets out a slow breath. "I admire those kinds of things in a person. I do, you know? I definitely liked it in _you_." Dimitri's ears twitch, and he stops eating. Listens. "But... I guess there's a time and a place for that kind of thing, and it's only when other people are willing to play by the same rules.   
  
"No one here was ever going to do that. But I bet back where you came from, with other Voa? With people who actually recognized you as having worth as a person? You could have grown up to be as honorable as you wanted, and been respected for it." But that obviously never happened... and they can only work with the present that they have right now.   
  
Maybe Dimitri is thinking something different, however, with the way he's staring at Claude. His eye is wide, stunned, a little confused, lost in thought as maybe _he_ ponders what his life could have been like if he had never been dragged here and forced into such a violent miserable life. Or maybe Claude is completely off base. Who can say?   
  
Only Dimitri, and he opts to look back down at the sandwich he's delicately holding in his fingers. Even from this angle, Claude thinks he can see the way his jaw is tense. "What would the true worth in that be...?"   
  
"I think it'd be worth just about anything," Claude says quietly, serious as the grave, serious in a way he never lets other people see him. "Anything and everything."   
  
What will Dimitri say to that? It's something he's left wondering, because Dimitri, in the end, says nothing. He only stays still there for a moment, moonlight turning his fur golden, head bowed and hair hiding his face. The two of them stay like that for a moment, quiet and still, before Dimitri finally breaks it. Of course he would. There's food to eat. Claude lets him get to it, and focuses on his breathing.   
  
That hadn't been exactly the _best_ conversation to have, especially when he'd been so eager to see Dimitri again... but it's not gotten worse. In a sort of twisted way, it's actually gotten better than how Claude had first thought this night would go when he initially entered the courtyard.  
  
Dimitri is calm. He's engaging in conversation. Even as Claude watches, he continues to finish off his food, with only a bit of the sausage and the cheese set to the side, alongside the smaller package. It's the most engaged Claude has ever gotten him, besides those first couple of nights.   
  
Still. What a silver lining: Dimitri is calm and talking with him, just at the cost of metaphorically punching him in the gut. Claude thinks he would have preferred an actual physical punch.   
  
In contrast to that... The peace and quiet is nice. Claude focuses on his breath, eases up his tight heart even if the thorn lodged in it won't leave. Dimitri continues to eat, lost in his own thoughts but at least not his own head. Good weather, bright moon - what else can he ask for? Well, besides a whole lot, but Claude is a pretty firm believer in getting what he can with his own two hands.   
  
Soon enough, the array of food on the wax paper has been cleared out, and Dimitri at long last turns his attention to the final tiny package. It's wrapped in wax paper as well, but by now Dimitri has managed to get a good amount of practice in handling that.  
  
The fact that it's so much smaller, with the folds so much harder to get a hold of, however? That requires even more of his concentration. Claude just watches him. After all of that, he's not really sure what to say himself for once, and Dimitri has never really been one for idle conversation now anyway -   
  
" _Gnk_ -!" Dimitri jolts back, a full-body bristle from beans to ear tips, and holds his hand out at the same time that he tries to scoot back like he can detach himself from it as a bit of honeycomb falls onto the wax paper.   
  
Oh gods - Claude bursts out laughing, fist shoving into his mouth and inbetween his teeth as fast as he can get it in order to muffle the sound. It's like a heavy curtain lifted from him. The moonlight seems brighter, his lungs a little lighter, and Dimitri is looking at his pathetically flapping hand as though it's betrayed him.  
  
There, on the very tips of his fingers, past his claws, is honey sticking there.  
  
"It's just honey," Claude chokes out past his fingers, shoulders shaking as he does his best to swallow his own laughter. It's not really working.   
  
"It - doesn't - feel good on my fingers!" Dimitri hisses out at him, almost a snarl. Yet what would normally be an intimidating sound is rather ruined as he tries jiggling his hand another direction. No dice. Honey, unfortunately for Dimitri, sticks.   
  
"Lick it off," Claude advises, stifling his laughter still. "It'll taste good. That's what humans do."   
  
"I know how honey works!" Claude raises his eyebrows, still grinning and clearly full of disbelief, and Dimitri huffs. But the shock is wearing off, and Dimitri finally raises his fingers to his mouth petulantly. "Humans can't understand this..."   
  
Well, he's probably right on that front. That isn't helping Claude try to keep a straight face, however. "And here I'd thought it would be a pleasant surprise," he says, wheezing only a little. "Guess next time I'd better warn you, huh?"   
  
Dimitri's stare gives away the fact that he doesn't believe him in the _slightest_. "I doubt you will." Well, Claude _did_ almost laugh until he cried... or choked. Whichever came first.   
  
"I will, promise," Claude insists, laughing some more. Just, quieter, this time. "Just eat it, okay? I don't have all night to find out if you like it or not."   
  
"You have all night to laugh at me," Dimitri points out, huffing. Still, that just seems to be a matter of getting the last word in. With that accomplished, Dimitri turns his attention back down to the honeycomb as he licks and lightly gnaws on his fingers. When he's cleaned himself up, he picks the honeycomb up again with a lot more care and caution than before.   
  
Even for all his efforts, however, it still ends up a slightly messy affair. There's really no helping it. Dimitri's claws are long enough to keep the honeycomb from the pads of his fingers, but he's not used to using them that way. Fur is still around the pads of his thumbs, and along his face. It's basically _inevitable_ that he makes a mess of himself, even as his ears start to perk up and his tail relaxes from where it's laid out to the side.  
  
Claude watches him work through the honeycomb fondly, this moment where his friend can just enjoy a rare treat, even if it is apparently ill-suited for Voa. Yet as he watches... Something occurs to him.  
  
It hits his brain as Dimitri sucks along his fingers, and drags his tongue along his mouth. The little amount of light that they have thanks to the moon does a fine job of illuminating the honey which sticks to Dimitri, especially when he opens his mouth to drag his tongue along the sharp curves of his teeth.  
  
...Hm. This would be _someone's_ fetish, wouldn't it? It's a thought that forms in the back of his mind, even if the rest of his actual thoughts are innocent. After all, while this might be someone's fetish, it's apparently not _his_. Unfortunate that his mind is just too sneaky and dirty in its own right.  
  
Before he can get too lost in all the ways someone might be attracted to Dimitri and Voa in general, and the ways _he_ might be attracted, Claude glances down at the honeycomb. There's still a good bit left, but at the rate that Dimitri is going? It's going to vanish soon. He has a question to ask before that happens. "Did you forget you have cheese too?" he asks. "Or do you not like that kind?"  
  
Dimitri pauses, tongue mid-clean from where it's pushing at his upper lip to reveal more of his teeth and some of his gums. "I'm saving it," he says, once he's satisfied that there's no more honey inbetween his fangs. After a second, he glances down towards the small chunk of cheese that's waiting by his side. "...Why?"  
  
Chuckling, Claude says, "Well, for one thing, you always eat every bit of what I bring you... but you haven't told me what you've liked or disliked about any of it. I don't know what to get for you in the future. So I wasn't sure if you were saving that, or if you just didn't want it." He shrugs, smiling. "Also, you've been combining a lot of your foods today. Honeycomb and cheese supposedly go pretty good together."  
  
Just like that, Dimitri's ears twitch up straighter, and he directs his attention back down towards his leftover cheese. It doesn't take long at all for him to carefully take a chunk of honeycomb and match it up with a delicately carved off chunk of cheese, matching them together. He doesn't eat it right away. Instead, Dimitri's chin shifts, and Claude can tell he's eyeing him warily as though this is another huge joke on his behalf. Not that he has to worry, really.  
  
Maybe Dimitri realizes that when he takes his first bite of honey and cheese, because his tail suddenly wags and smacks onto the other side of him like the impact of a falling star. It'd probably hurt for anyone else that isn't Dimitri, because _Dimitri_ is focused on nothing else but staring wide eyed into space while the flavor sinks into his mouth.  
  
Claude's smile couldn't get any more broad. "Is that a winner?" he asks, eyes no doubt sparkling. The tail is an absolute dead giveaway... but he'll do his friend a favor and not draw attention to it.  
  
Snapping out of it, Dimitri hunches his shoulders up, and tries to shift as if there's any possible way for him to hide his tail. "It's... good."  
  
"I thought you might like it." Claude leans back a little, resting his arm along his knee now. That much had stood out to him when he'd stopped by in the village to pick up all sorts of food, both as little pieces of bribery for people like the guards, and a much bigger haul for Dimitri himself.  
  
The glisten of honey had been like a beacon, or a sign. Seeing his choice lead to this kind of thing... It fills him with contentment, and a memory as well.  
  
"I still remember when we were little, and I brought you a honey candy I took off a kid who tried to beat me up... You really seemed to like it, back then, so I thought you might like the real thing."  
  
He doesn't realize that he's said anything particularly odd, honestly. It takes a beat of silence, of Dimitri just staring at him, for him to realize that there has to be something _off_ in his words. He'd probably figure it out, given a few more seconds, but Dimitri speaks up first. "...Is that what happened," he says, somehow not quite a question. His claws knead into the air, wanting to do something and without target.  
  
"Did I not mention that before?" Claude chuckles, even though that now sounds rather true in hindsight. Of course he'd never really talked much to Dimitri about his own difficulties living in the church, although they weren't the same as his friend dealt with.  
  
Honestly he never really spoke to most people about the troubles he experienced. Complaining, he'd learned early on in his life, never really got him anywhere - both back home, from what he can remember it, and in the church, although the two were for somewhat different reasons.  
  
The church took the crueler of the two positions, in Claude's opinion: if he was the one being harassed, or bullied, then wasn't it because he was doing something weird or bad, and thus deserved it? So he simply kept things to himself, or learned to find places in the church or the orphanage where he could make sure his fellow orphans would actually get in trouble for entirely different reasons.  
  
And why complain to Dimitri, anyway? As much as his friend would have wanted to, he couldn't have done anything for Claude back then regardless... and the knowledge would have just made Dimitri miserable. Besides, Claude had been so much more focused on his pleasure and fascination with Dimitri than sharing his miseries. Those, why, those he could find just about anywhere else in the church.  
  
If he'd occasionally been dirty, or a little bruised, whenever he visited Dimitri, well, Claude had never opted to speak of it. He was always happy, and excited, and curious about the things he could learn from Dimitri. Didn't that make sense? It was his one bright spot in the church.  
  
If he'd talked about how the two of them were both outsiders in the church, well, Claude had never really explained that. He merely convinced Dimitri into the next round of learning Fodlish, or Claude learning Voali. Logical enough, really - he'd always been interested in learning about the things he didn't know, so why dwell on what he did?  
  
So he supposes he never _did_ tell Dimitri about things like that, and that's just confirmed when Dimitri thins his mouth and says, "No. You... didn't." Is he actually upset? Claude can't quite tell, honestly.... If anything, the way Dimitri's tail twitches and the way his ears flick back just slightly... Is he confused? Claude thinks that might be it. He did the same thing when he was a little kid. When they were both kids.  
  
Well, things are already miserable, and maybe recounting that little tale will sate whatever curiosity is in him. "Yeah, some kid tried to start a fight with me, like usual," he says, because that _was_ usual back then, "but I pretended I saw the deacon coming and knocked him over when he turned to look. I got in a couple of hits before he ran off, but he dropped his pouch of honey candy."  
  
Claude's smile is downright nostalgic; the memory is too far off for it to be painful. Despite the distance, he can still remember how golden the candy had shined in the sunlight when he'd curiously held it up to get a good look at it. It had shined in Dimitri's fingers, too, when Claude had snuck it past the bars of his door. Besides, getting the better of that bully? Seeing Dimitri light up in the presence of something nice? That had been almost as sweet as the candy, at the time.  
  
"We got a treat out of that, so I thought it a win at the time. I got punished later, of course, but that wasn't exactly new." He shrugs, uncaring. That double standard had _also_ not been new... but they couldn't stop the fact that he _had_ gotten candy, had tasted it, shared it, and so he had resolved not to let it get to him.  
  
For a long moment more, Dimitri stays silent, and the only sound would be the crinkle of wax paper as he grinds it between his fingers. He doesn't look at Claude, just looks downwards. Claude would say that makes it a little harder to read Dimitri's emotions, but, well.... With his eye as it is, he supposes he's always been relying on those ears and tail of his more than anything else. Still, the exact nature of those thoughts is the mystery here.  
  
That's part of what makes it hard to understand what Dimitri means when he suddenly says, "And now?"  
  
Claude cocks his head to the side. "And now what?" he asks, giving Dimitri a questioning look.  
  
"And now is that no longer new, or not?" Dimitri pauses, feeling the need to clarify, although Claude has already caught on to what he means. "Being punished... for defending yourself."  
  
"These days, it's not so easy to get me in trouble," Claude says, laughing. "I'm too valuable... ironically, because I'm so worthless to them. I'm competent, fluent in multiple languages, and there's nowhere I won't go... but I'm a foreigner, an outsider who didn't _truly_ grow up under the church's wing, so sending me into dangerous places doesn't both them too much."  
  
Oh, sure, most of them won't _say_ as much, not outright... Some of them still believe they're actually above that kind of thing, when they're not, and others still like to play coy.  
  
But Claude knows the truth of the matter.  
  
He continues, flicking reasons off on his fingers. "No one in the church - no one high enough up to matter anyway - will kick up a fuss over how I should be given better treatment than I am. But I do have a lot of contacts, a lot of friends, and a lot of people who owe me favors. I'm too convenient to dispose of without good reason, while being juuuuust expendable enough that they won't ever have one of their own do my jobs. So, no, no one throws me under the bus too much anymore... and what trouble they do throw me into, it doesn't come from them.  
  
"And so as long as I know how to take care of myself - " He winks. " - which I do, by the way - I can manage just fine."  
  
Dimitri eyes him, and then eyes his now completely empty hands. So engrossed by the conversation and the taste of cheese plus honey, he's cleared out his entire meal instead of leaving anything set to the side this time. Claude notes this for another night, especially with the way Dimitri's ears flick downwards in clear disappointment before he refocuses on their conversation.  
  
"So you have friends," he says slowly, tail twitching at the end. "I was beginning to wonder, with how you've made a habit of seeing a monster."  
  
"A few," Claude agrees amiably. "Not many I would call _close_ friends, mind. But they're all people I like, and people I'd help out for free if it didn't set me or my plans back any. But close friends... Those are people that you'd help out no matter what personal risks you'd run. I don't have many of those. And then, the tier above that... People you'd help without even stopping to make the calculations. Loyalty down to the bone, deeper than thought itself."  
  
Dimitri stares at him for a moment, with that eternally blue eye, and Claude wonders if this is reminding him of anything. If this is making him think about what their childhood used to be like, or maybe friends he had back in his home. But then, maybe it's taking some time as well, and Dimitri frowns slightly. "You... speak as if you know it exists," he says quietly.  
  
"Of course I do." He chuckles again. "You know it too, even if you're so bitter you're pretending you don't. Family ties, parents with their children, sworn friends - you know of these things, whether or not you've benefited from them personally. You can't be so jaded that you're going to pretend to not know what I'm talking about even from observation."  
  
Claude doesn't claim this with Dimitri... and that's a deliberate choice on his end. There's no point to it yet, is there?  
  
For another long moment, Dimitri stares at him, and there's a quiet heaviness to it... and a quiet distance, too. Claude knows he's right... He knows that Dimitri has to remember parents who loved him and would give anything for him, and having seen examples of that loyal friendship from afar. It exists, and they both know it does.  
  
But then Dimitri bristles, and he looks up at the stars that are barely visible from his cell. "...It's the extent more than the original existence I'm doubting."  
  
Claude sighs, shifting in place and turning his back until he's leaning against the bars of Dimitri's cell. Tilting his head back, he looks up to the stars as well. There's not much point to carrying on that form of conversation, he thinks.... Not until he can get to his goal, until he can get Dimitri out into the world so that he can see everything he's lost faith in.  
  
But what else can he talk about? "I have to say... even with all the ways I imagined us meeting up again, I never pictured it going like this."   
  
Silence for another moment from Dimitri. Claude wonders where he's looking now; he can't be fiddling with the wax paper anymore. "I never pictured it at all," Dimitri finally murmurs, and there's another thorn in Claude's chest. "You weren't even looking when you found me..."   
  
Normally, Claude is quite good at hiding his real emotions, or at least the depth of them. But... "Never?" he asks, and there's no helping some of the sadness that leaks out through his voice. "Not even when we were kids, when they first sent me away?" How did he not realize how important it was for Dimitri to _miss_ him before now? He'll still get him out of here, it's important, it's _right_ , but... Gods, does his heart ache and twist at the idea that Dimitri never once _thought_ of him when he left.   
  
The pause that follows feels so heavy, so thick in the way it smothers him, but it's probably not as long as it feels to him before Dimitri softly speaks up once more. "Does that count...?" he asks, and Claude feels his lungs release just a little bit. He still cared. He's just... lost. They both are, in some ways, he supposes.   
  
"Of course," he answers, something for himself as much as it is for Dimitri. "A lot of the times I imagined finding you were back then, too. You weren't the only one who got jaded growing up." It's perhaps just harder to tell with him, and Claude has to close his eyes at the emotions twisting at his heart.   
  
No response. There's only silence. Has Dimitri drifted off again, into his own thoughts, or distracted by hallucinations? Is he thinking of what he wants to say, of the things Claude has told him? It would be a little _much_ to believe that he's having a complete 180 from how he's reacted to Claude beforehand... Even just him wanting to talk to Claude again, to learn Fodlish, is a giant step. To ask for anymore... Claude always will, but he's a realist, in the end. He lets out a slow breath -   
  
And he holds it, throat hollow and empty as clawpoints gently press against the front of it.   
  
What a gentle threat, so easy, and it hits Claude just then are big Voa truly are - how big _Dimitri_ especially is, from what is no doubt a combination of violent lifestyle, how well the church must have fed him as a child, and his own genetics. Dimitri's hand could fit around Claude's throat easily from where he's slipped it inbetween the bars, and yet he holds back.  
  
It's just... those claws. The thumb balanced delicately along his jaw, pinpricks where the rest of his claws follow the curve of his throat, all the way to where his pinky is curled just enough until there's a pinprick at the hollow of Claude's throat.   
  
Claude almost doesn't realize his own eyes have snapped open, sightless from where they stare upwards towards the stars. What he's aware of is the slight tremor that wracks through his body just once, a slight start at the realization of how close Dimitri has gotten. How silent he can be. How _big_ he is, his presence against Claude's back and his breath rustling through his hair.   
  
Kind of stupid, really. He's interacted with Voa before. He knows how tall they can get, how much more muscular Dimitri is from a life of combat. But still. _Still_. It's something else to realize that Dimitri was doing something behind his back after all, and how sharp his nails feel. Slowly, Claude breathes in again, and feels the skin along his throat rise up against Dimitri's claws.  
  
His hand is so big... It sends adrenaline pumping through his veins, from his heart to his legs, to his arms, to _all_ of his body. Despite this... Claude closes his eyes again, to the sound of Dimitri's voice whispering through his hair.   
  
"How did you think it would go, then...?"   
  
Is this the end, then? Claude doesn't think so... and if it is, then it is. Even as much as he tries to tell himself this, however, Claude can't deny the slight amount of tension that's seized his body.  
  
"Well..." He swallows, tries to convince his heart to calm itself. "In terms of the most basic difference... I always thought you'd be happy to see me." There's a wistfulness in his words he can't deny, can't fight against, just thinking of the mental image his younger self had so often conjured: a younger Dimitri, both of his eyes, smiling like Claude was his world. It had been a little selfish but, despite what so many of the adults in his life had thought, he was only a child. Wasn't he allowed to be selfish, now and then?   
  
For whatever reason, the claws at his neck relax, and they don't press so closely now. Oh, they don't pull away... but, for whatever reason, Dimitri has seen or heard something that he... likes? Claude can't quite tell. All he does is focus all of his attention towards Dimitri, and his next soft words that are an utter contrast to his claws against Claude's skin. "Disappointed, then..."   
  
"Which of us are you referring to?" Claude asks, bleak humor and little else as his mind gets distracted from Dimitri's hand around his neck.   
  
"You... I would think." There's the sound of dirt floor being shifted against, paws scuffling against them, and then Claude can _really_ feel Dimitri now, and smell him, too - that old warm musk with the faintest tinge of blood to it. Dimitri can't lean against him completely, not with the bars of his cell in the way, but Claude can still feel him pressing through the gaps that are there. There are claws against his throat, and a tired weight at his back. His heart aches. "That... I'm not going to be as I ever was," Dimitri says, so quiet he could be drowning. "You're just coming here for a corpse..."   
  
His claws twitch, then, but Claude's body starts to relax. Dimitri won't kill him here, he realizes. It's debatable if Dimitri would ever kill him on purpose at all. "I didn't expect you to be totally unchanged. Not even in my earliest daydreams." Claude leans his head back against the bars, throat curving up against those claws. They back away, don't dig in. "I just thought... you'd still like me." And that is so much harder to tell with Dimitri.   
  
No answer, not immediately. Just that same breath, deep from the very pit of Dimitri's lungs and flowing through Claude's hair that he so often tries to keep swept back. Maybe if the two of them stay like this long enough, his hair will fall back into the loose curls he so often preferred as a child, the ones that he got told off for being messy.  
  
"I... don't even know," Dimitri admits at long last, sounding more tired than he's ever been. His hand drops from Claude's throat, and his claws catch slightly at the front of his shirt. They don't tear... Just a little snag, here and there, while the rest of his fingers hang limply. "You're still here..."   
  
"Yeah," Claude agrees. There's nothing really complicated about the answer. "I didn't think I'd be restarting at square one, but, if I have to, I will. I might not be happy about you not liking me anymore, but - it was never a prerequisite." He smiles a little, finding his stride again, his confidence and ease. And he still has a step one, here. As long as he has that, nothing is hopeless. "I'll just earn it back. It takes a lot more than a little thing like not being liked to stop Claude von Riegan, I'll have you know. Otherwise I would've curled up and died years ago."   
  
Worn out by the conversation, or perhaps living in general, Dimitri only slumps further against the bars, against Claude. He sounds tired when he says, "This is beyond merely _square one_. This time... I could kill you. Even without meaning to." His claws twitch where they hang against Claude's shirt.   
  
Ah. He thinks he's starting to get a handle on Dimitri's thought process... "You could. And if you do, then you do. I won't be around to complain about it, obviously." Claude shrugs, still projecting that air of ease.   
  
"So your own life means that little."   
  
"Honestly, the person I'd leave behind who's ever been closest to me is you... So it wouldn't be that huge of a loss to anyone that cared, right?"   
  
There's the silence of thought, stillness, and Claude focuses on how warm Dimitri's breath is against his hair and the back of his neck. Probably, he should be more concerned about his position.  
  
He isn't. There's something almost comforting, honestly, about being this close to Dimitri now that those claws aren't threatening to tear out his throat. Almost the second he thinks it, those claws begin to knead slowly against his shirt - a quiet movement filled with an almost anxious energy. "Will you think the same when I die?" Dimitri asks into his hair.   
  
"No," Claude says immediately, without having to even think of it. "But you mean a lot to me. You always have."   
  
The claws still along Claude's shirt. "...You meant a lot to him as well," Dimitri says softly before the claws pull out of Claude's shirt, away from him completely. Even before he turns his head to look at him, Dimitri is shifting away and padding quietly to his usual spot in the cell. He curls up, limbs held close, tail flicking to curve around him again as though it's more a barrier than the actual metal bars in the way. "Go away, Claude von Riegan. Stop coming here."   
  
"No can do," Claude says, still watching Dimitri over his shoulder. "I got a friend to win back." And he's starting to think he's at least a step further than he thought he was.   
  
Tucking half of his face downwards, Dimitri glowers at him over his arms. It is not, however, a glower of surprise. It's just miserable, but mostly exasperated. "You asked... if I had ever imagined meeting you again," he says, revisiting a question that, frankly, Claude had almost assumed he'd forgotten.   
  
"Yeah?" Claude says, more a question as he wonders where Dimitri is going with this. Something occurs to him, however, and he shifts against the bars until his side is more against it than his back. "By the way, I'm not talking about the hallucinations you're tricked into thinking are real," he adds, which he probably should have said long before. "I'm talking about... just thinking about it. Imagining it, while knowing you're imagining it."   
  
"I know." Dimitri stares at him blankly. "I have experienced both." That's a good thing to note: even if only in hindsight, Dimitri can at least tell the difference between what are hallucinations and what are his own thoughts. Claude will hoard any scrap of information he can on Dimitri's state, because he honestly doesn't know. As he does this, Dimitri takes a slow breath, and shifts just enough so that his mouth is clear of his arms. "When I was younger, I had imagined... many things. Ways to thank you, for what generosity you had shown."   
  
For a brief second, Dimitri squeezes his eye shut, and then eases it open again. "There is nothing that person from back then can give you now... So this is all _I_ can do. Go away, for your own good, before either one of us dies."   
  
"I appreciate the misguided consideration, Dimitri," Claude says, with a slight smile. Yeah. Not so far back to Square 1 as he thought. "But I'm not gonna accept that's the only way this story can end. And if I do lose you again... well, it's not going to be because I walked away. It'll have to happen the same way it happened last time: some external force is gonna have to drag us apart. Because I'm not leaving by choice."   
  
"Then you're a fool." Just like that, Dimitri turns his head until his blind side is to Claude. It's a very obvious little bit of body language, but, unfortunately for Dimitri, he's given away his true feelings in the actual words from his mouth. Claude doesn't leave. Good thing, because Dimitri keeps going a few seconds later. "You've seen how easily I can end your life, and yet you won't pursue better for yourself. Perhaps you _would_ be better as a spectre."   
  
Yet he still didn't do it. Claude's smile stays on his lips. "Probably, for unrelated reasons," he says amiably. "But in this case, I think we just have different opinions about what the worst outcome for me would be. And not losing you again is worth a lot of risk." He shrugs. "Hell, I run risks for the church, and I don't even like them. Don't you think I'd be willing to go a lot further for someone actually important to me?"   
  
Dimitri stubbornly keeps looking away from him. "Inform me, then, when you find them," he mutters.   
  
"Do you really think I'm that easy to dissuade?" Claude asks him, almost too amused for words. Dimitri really isn't slick, and Claude isn't shy about letting him know that with his very next sentence. "Or that you're being remotely subtle at this point?"   
  
"Neither bluntness nor subtly seem to work with you." Dimitri huffs, and his tail starts to thwap around in clear aggravation. Unlike prior nights, Dimitri seems _incredibly_ aware of what his tail is doing without, apparently, his permission. He turns his head to glare down at it, and slowly extends one foot until he can pin his tail into stillness.  
  
For a second, Claude thinks that's going to be it, but Dimitri has been full of surprises ever since he saw him tonight, and it seems to be a streak the Voa plans to continue. After a few minutes of just staring at a wall, Dimitri tilts his head enough so that he can look over to Claude.  
  
"...How long do you have tonight?"   
  
Claude looks up to the position of the moon hanging high over them, first, and then down to the shadows stretching out along the ground. He only needs his eyes to measure it all, match it up with many other nights where it's just been him and the moon. "Mm... Another twenty minutes, I think."   
  
Not for the first time, he wonders how much that exactly means to Dimitri. How do you translate twenty minutes into the movement of the moon, since that's all he's had for years to go off of? Well, it's not an answer he'll get tonight. Dimitri stares at him for a moment longer before letting out a slow breath. "...You said you're not accepting how this will end."   
  
"Nope." Claude smiles up at the stars. "Maybe there aren't any better options at the moment... but since none of the existing ones appeal, I'm going to do my best to write my own ending for this story." Feeling hilariously a lot more relaxed than he was only maybe fifteen minutes ago, probably more than he should be feeling, Claude stretches his arms over his head. "But that's one of those things I won't ask you to believe until you see it for yourself."   
  
"Such effort for a lost cause seems a waste of energy..." Dimitri blows out a puff of air, and his ears have lowered when Claude looks over his shoulder again. "Will you take responsibility, then, if I do start to believe?"   
  
"Of course. I mean, I was already promising to, wasn't I?" Claude smiles sidelong at him. "Saying I don't expect you to believe anything I don't show you that you can put your faith in is basically saying that I'm going to give you good reason to have faith in me, right? Because the faith and its reward will go hand in hand."   
  
"Unless the faith comes first." Dimitri frowns at him. Underneath his foot, his tail gives a small and annoyed twitch. "What will you do then, when that brings only ruin with it? Your idea of faith is hardly a perfect thing, or wanted."   
  
Claude laughs out loud, although not _loudly_. "Dimitri," he says, amusement curling in his chest, "I'm not exactly worried that's a likely scenario. I don't think you even remember _how_ to have faith in something."   
  
Dimitri's nostrils flare in annoyance. "I don't," he replies, reaffirming the very obvious fact between them. "Yet it is still a chance you would have to risk, is it not?" He narrows his eye. "And you have already ruined things with your presence as it is."   
  
"I know; I'm very naughty that way," Claude says, deeply amused, more than a little irreverent, and not afraid to show either of those things. He turns away from Dimitri again, folding his arms behind his head. "I really don't know why you'd think I'd have a plan in place for a total impossibility happening, Your Prickliness." He smiles up at the sky. "But when it happens, I'll already have made the impossible a reality, so at that point I'll be able to accomplish anything I care to."   
  
"I'm fairly certain that kind of arrogance doesn't have a place in any religion," Dimitri mutters behind Claude's back, which he's absolutely wrong about, but Claude doesn't find a need to say so just yet. There are a couple more rustling sounds, the tip of his tail no doubt smacking against the ground again. "For someone who cares so little about his own life, you seem to have a great deal many plans."   
  
"Plans are just dreams you believe you can make real," Claude replies, staring at the stars. "Anyone can dream, and anyone can believe in something - whether or not it makes any logical sense to believe in it. Whether you can create a feasible plan and carry it out, and actually turn dreams into reality... Well, that's what separates the truly great from the idle dreamers." He supposes he hasn't really replied properly to Dimitri's statement, however, and Claude closes his eyes. "But I do have a lot of plans, yes. Whether any of them will bear fruit... Time will tell, won't it?"   
  
From the little fruits, like making friendly with various guards or people like Quartermaster Henning, to larger ones like getting Dimitri free... to even bigger ones than that. Things that require a lot of sweat, dirt up to his throat, and weathering harsh winters. But Claude will get there. He's positive of it, so long as he doesn't die.   
  
It's just that he can't tell Dimitri any of this, not yet. Not with how questionable his stability is, not with how much he speaks to himself in his spare time. It's for the better, and so it can't be helped that Dimitri sounds more than a little dismissive when he says, "I imagine this is why the church cares little for your personality."   
  
Considering what not only this particular branch, but the church in general, gets up to? What it's like? Claude will take that as a compliment, and he barks out a laugh that's not particularly humorous. "The church doesn't care much for any part that's an outsider," he informs Dimitri. "My personality's just the icing on the cake, really."   
  
They both know that's a truth Dimitri is well versed in as well, just to the absolute worst degree. Maybe that's why Dimitri falls silent for a while longer. When he speaks up, it's once again returning to a prior topic. "So do no plans exist without a dream behind them, for you?"   
  
The question gives Claude a moment's pause as he thinks it over. "I suppose you could put it that way, yeah."   
  
"...I wonder, then, if such an existence would be empty to you."   
  
"What kind of existence do you mean?" Claude asks, raising an eyebrow as he tries to tilt his head back enough to glance at Dimitri.   
  
"Was I not clear?" asks the guy who has not been clear a whole lot of times since they've reunited.   
  
Well, it's not like Claude can blame him... "Just a bit, no," he says. "So try again. What kind of existence?"   
  
"One... going through the motions, I suppose." Dimitri doesn't look up at him, instead keeping his head and his gaze turned downwards. Slowly, he shifts his foot off of his tail. After being pinned for so long, his tail swishes back and forth to no doubt get rid of some aches and energy. Dimitri stares at it like it's going to betray him at any second. "If one has no dream, then they have no plan. That is the logic you have described to me. "   
  
Claude slides his hands down from his hair, hooking his hands around one propped up knee until his fingers lace together. "And I guess you could say that you could have plans without dreams, too, if you consider some things too mundane or undesirable to be called dreams. You could make a plan to go to the market, or to the dentist, and while technically you could say those are dreams that become plans, in the sense that you take a thought in your head and take steps to make it reality... Those aren't the kind of things people tend to dream about, either. So you could say they follow the letter of my statement, if not the spirit." With all that said, he takes a subtle glance back at Dimitri.   
  
All this sidestepping around what they know Dimitri _really_ asked is possibly a little obvious... or perhaps Dimitri is merely starting to get to know him enough to know that this is all just long-winded lead up. Seeing the way that eye is focused on him, expecting something even if he's not sure what, makes Claude laugh a little. Although maybe it's just this conversation that draws it out.   
  
"But this is all way overthinking what you mean. So shall we just come out and acknowledge that you're coming as close as possible in asking me what I would've done in your place, without actually asking me? How I would've managed, or turned out? If I could still talk like this if I were on your side of the bars?" Using the hands on his knee, he draws himself forward, away from those very same bars, until his chin is resting atop his knee. "Or maybe you're asking what I think you should do or feel about the stuff I'm saying... Honestly, I have to say I don't know the answer to either of those questions... And it probably wouldn't be too respectful to you for me to speculate on them, either."   
  
The entire time, Dimitri listens to all of this silently, eye still narrowed. The silence stays a good few seconds after Claude finishes, until Dimitri softly huffs. "I do not like how you can read me so easily," he mutters. Still, it's out there now, and Dimitri seems to realize that as he shoves aside all attempts at subtlety. "So you never bothered, then, to think that your dreams are more cruel than the alternative?"   
  
"I wouldn't say I've never bothered to think of what it's like for you," Claude corrects immediately. If Dimitri is trying to think beyond the life he's always been stuck with since Claude left, if he's actively engaging with Claude, then that's all good, and he'll weather through Dimitri's need to vent.  
  
That's what he's pretty sure at least some of this is, anyway. Probably it was always going to come out at some point; Dimitri has a lot of anger he needs to vent with a source that can finally understand him. But Claude won't let him get the facts wrong, even in the midst of that venting.   
  
A conversation like this isn't one to have while his back is turned. Claude pushes himself forward, gives himself enough room so that he can turn around. He adjusts himself, sits with his legs crossed again. "It's more like... I could _try_ to imagine what it's like caged up and forced to kill people, but even if I did... Would I even get close to understanding? Could I understand how it feels to go through that, not just vicariously through my head for a few minutes, but be forced to live that reality for years?" Claude shakes his head. "I don't think I can know what you've been through, Dimitri. Not without living it. So I'm not going to tell you what you should do, or how you should think, or what you should believe. I'm not going to tell you how to feel about it, or pretend I understand what it's like to be you. I don't, and that's that. All I really know is what it's like to be me."   
  
For a moment, he looks back up to the stars again as though they'll give him any help, but he pulls his gaze back down to Dimitri soon enough. For this part of the talk... He can't do anything else but look straight to Dimitri. The cell the church has placed him in is more than merely physical... but at least Claude can work on the lock for this part of it a lot easier than he can deal with the physical one. Or maybe, in some ways, it's a lot harder.   
  
"And being me - which is something you can't know any better, by the way, just as a side note - I don't think I could have survived without dreams. Some of them were just dreams, but some of them became plans over time. Some of them needed _time_ to become plans." Claude shakes his head slightly, and finds himself looking back up towards the sky again. "But my village being wiped out... Being forced into the church that branded my people as savages, heretics... Who had that whole campaign started against them in the first place... Being punished for speaking my own language, or holding onto any of my culture... Looked down on by everyone, mocked and blamed for everything...  
  
"How would I have even been able to get up in the morning without dreaming that I could make today better than yesterday? That someday I'd make things be different? Without dreaming of freedom, or revenge? Both, preferably."   
  
Claude pulls himself out from the stars, looks down, and it almost feels as though he's brought some of that cold night into himself. It's... not often that he thinks about everything that's happened to him, not this deeply, not this revealing to another person. There's just no _time_.  
  
If he spared time and energy on thinking about what it's been like, living this life, dealing with every shitty and horrible thing that's been done to him, then that would just be time _wasted_. He has so many plans, so many things he needs to do just in order to _survive_... let alone surpass that simple goal.   
  
It doesn't hurt to think about it all, not... exactly. It just _aches_ , down to his bone, like old scars exposed to sharp winter air. So often, he wears a smiling and light mask, because that's what helps him survive. To a certain degree he has to admit that it affects himself as well. Act a role long enough, and such things naturally happen. The reflection shines inwards, to a certain degree.  
  
But Dimitri... won't understand that drawn on smile. He won't understand the things happening outside of himself, outside of the self-centered life he's been forced to live, unless Claude shows him just how deep things go. Unless he can see all the detail.   
  
...And maybe Claude is tired of the stifling weight of such a face himself, the way it smothers him.   
  
He's calm, of course. Calm, and maybe more serious than he's ever revealed to Dimitri. It can't be anything special. Yet from within Dimitri's cell, where he's watching... something must show in his expression. Something must be different. Dimitri stirs, pushing himself up as he stares right back, unblinking. Claude isn't entirely sure what has him so transfixed, what has Dimitri push closer as though Claude's now the skittish animal who has to be approached carefully... but he'll take it.   
  
Whatever keeps Dimitri's attention on him, and gets his words to sink deep into his mind where they'll hopefully take root.   
  
While he has that attention, Claude keeps going. "That's what I had to do to survive," he tells Dimitri as his friend continues to approach him, slow, careful. "But I'm a different person than you, and I was in a different situation. You don't have to take my talking about my dreams as some kind of encouragement to do what I did... especially if you don't want to."   
  
Dimitri is close enough for them to easily touch each other, now - and then he does, reaching carefully between the bars of his cell until he presses one hand against Claude's cheek. No, not his whole hand, although it almost seems for a moment as if he might do so. Just... his fingertips, the pads, claws pointed away from skin or his eyes. Dimitri's ears are perked forward, towards him, taking in every word he says. Or maybe it's less about his words, and more about something else that Claude can't detect from within his own self...   
  
Claude takes advantage of that attention, raising an eyebrow as he points out something that's become increasingly obvious throughout this whole night. "But really, you sound like you might be starting to have dreams you don't want to have with me around. I guess you could blame me for those if you want, but I don't really see how that's any different, or worse, than the hallucinations you were having before I ever got here."   
  
As is the norm between them, Dimitri doesn't answer right away... but Claude thinks the reason behind it might be different, this time. It feels different... How those finger pads are still against his cheek, and how they're so close now that Claude can actually see the details in Dimitri's eye.  
  
Normally, from a distance, they seem an almost opaque blue... but there are shades within it, depths, that are only visible when they're close enough that Claude can feel his breath flow along his face. This close, he can see Dimitri's pupil, the subtle twitches of it as Dimitri looks over him slowly.   
  
"You," Dimitri says quietly, at long last, "are no hallucination."   
  
That makes Claude smile, only a little. He still feels lost in the blue - of the night sky, of Dimitri's gaze. He leans into Dimitri's touch. "I'd like to think you're saying that as a good thing."   
  
Now that Claude is reacting, Dimitri in turn reacts to that, and his fingers start to brush along his skin. Still so slow. Still so careful, as though Claude is the most delicate thing in the world. "Is it?" Dimitri asks, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against his bars. His hair folds, crumples, against the pressure, disrupting the otherwise limp mane. "Before... Everything was the same. I could accept that I was nothing, and so nothing hurt. The hallucinations... would never change anything. They could never truly touch me."   
  
As he talks, a claw strays slightly, grazes Claude's cheek, and Dimitri stops himself to correct its path. Reasons like that... Reasons like that are why Claude doesn't feel any tension, any worry, despite how close those claws are. It's completely different from when they were at his throat... Or, maybe, how he was seeing things at first when they were at his throat. Now, near his eyes, his mouth, he feels no worry at all.   
  
"But... you are here now," Dimitri murmurs, still watching his own claw so carefully, still making sure he doesn't leave so much as a scratch on Claude's skin. He watches as that brilliant blue eye shifts to his own gaze once more. "Everything is different... whether I believe it or not. Everything aches anew, now, when you are gone, and I can do nothing."   
  
"That sounds a bit like a philosophical question, and most Voa I've come to meet love those," Claude replies. If he weren't more of a realist than anything else, he'd find those lines romantic... but he doesn't think they're nearly as romantic as one might think. Dimitri was so cold to him only a week ago... No, if Dimitri is frustrated on anything - well, who knows. Perhaps he's just actual stimulation, after a life of absolute nothing. And speaking of which....   
  
"Is it better to live a life that's a flat, unchanging plane, or to live a life with a series of highs and lows?" Claude asks. "Does the height of the peaks make up for the lowness of the valleys? Is a state of equilibrium in between, where you never experience either extreme, better?" When he smiles this time, it feels a little more like what he normally uses while around Dimitri. "Like a lot of philosophy questions, there's no objective answer. All you can decide is which you prefer."   
  
Stewing over the answer, Dimitri brushes his thumb along Claude's cheek - right beneath his eye. Despite that, he doesn't feel anything but at ease. It must be obvious... or something must have Dimitri's attention, because he seems utterly entranced. "I don't know the answer," Dimitri admits quietly. "Such a life is not what I had ever desired, and yet it is what I was given. If I were to relive such pain, again and again, would that not merely be a process of breaking something repeatedly? Just once... That is more than enough. Is there any goodness that would justify that, any happiness, when it would go to waste on something too low to bring back once more?"   
  
Claude cocks an eyebrow at Dimitri. "Why are you asking me?"   
  
"Because you are the only one I have to ask," Dimitri tells him, simple, quiet, not looking away.   
  
In his heart, something catches, aches, and Claude focuses on the slow rush of breath into and out of his lungs. Dimitri isn't wrong, on that front. It's just an obvious fact: Claude is the only person who listens to him, and perhaps even the only person who can understand him in the whole city. Yet hearing him say it... It almost hurts.   
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. Dimitri still has his fingers along Claude's face. "You're the only one who can decide whether the payoff is worth the risk," he tells Dimitri softly, feeling so damn close despite the metal in the way. Close enough that the bars almost don't matter. After a moment, he closes his eyes, and forces himself to say the last thing he _wants_ to say. "And if you decide that I'm really hurting you more than I'm helping you, and you want me to leave you alone... I'll leave. If you ask me to. Some pain might be inevitable, but if it outweighs any good I'm doing, then I don't want that for you."   
  
Dimitri's hand presses closer, palm against cheek now. Claude opens his eyes, and finds Dimitri's sole one is completely focused on him. Such a clear blue, and yet his thoughts aren't clear at all...   
  
"Although I hope you don't make that call before you've even given me a fair chance," he murmurs, lost in blue.   
  
Slowly, Dimitri's fingers drift upwards until they're curving along the side of Claude's face, into his hair. There's a soft sort of prickle, a shift, as his thumb ghosts along one eyebrow. With every second that passes, the more Claude wonders about Dimitri's answer. He wants to say, with how responsive Dimitri has been this entire night, that he'll at least agree to Claude's visits for a little while more... but the truth of the matter is that he has no idea. Other people are unpredictable. Dimitri has proven to be especially so.   
  
"...You used to have a braid."   
  
Claude blinks at the non sequitur. That's certainly not an answer to what he'd said at all... but perhaps that's an answer in its own way. He decides to roll with it. "I did," he acknowledges. "The church didn't like it, not that they like anything about me." Claude tilts his head to the side, pressing further against Dimitri's palm.  
  
Theoretically, he could still braid some of his hair if he didn't style it so much. No product to keep it swept back in that church-approved style, no pins carefully folding the longer parts out of sight, a little string here or there... He could manage. Claude has certainly worn it in a braid when he's been far enough from this city. "Do you miss it?"  
  
He can feel the awkward sensation of his hair being bent opposite of where it's been resting all day, Dimitri's finger toying with it slowly. "So you stopped for that reason," he murmurs. Still no answer to what Claude had asked him, on either front.  
  
"Well, I don't intend for it to be permanent..." Dimitri's fingers shift again, fur tickling against his skin where it brushes. It makes him want to sleep, or lean against the bars. "I happened to like it. But while I'm still going along with the church..." Claude shrugs. It can't be helped. If he wanted to, he's sure he could run away... but for the things he wants to do, he needs to stay close for now.  
  
"... I see..." Unfortunately, inevitably, Dimitri pulls his hand back... but he seems different, somehow. There's something indescribable to his gaze as he looks down to his hand, fingers gently spread out. He's almost - transfixed, staring at something, feeling something, that Claude isn't privy to.  
  
Claude lets it ride, for the moment. It feels as though something _important_ is happening here, a quiet but undeniable change. It's not just in how softly Dimitri had touched him, but something in Dimitri's own mind. If he breaks the spell... Well, Claude doesn't know what would happen. He doesn't know what's happening _now_. He just knows he's afraid to rush it. So: he lets the moment ride out.  
  
And in the meanwhile... Claude watches his friend, and remembers how warm his hand had felt along his throat, against his chest, curved against his cheek. The ghost of it all lingers, and that residual warmth tingles inside of him.  
  
He can't stay outside of Dimitri's cell forever. After around three minutes, he figures it's best to leave Dimitri to... whatever change is slowly curling through him. Carefully and quietly, he pushes himself up onto his feet. "I have to go now, Dimitri," he murmurs to him. His friend doesn't look up. "I'll try and see you tomorrow night, okay?"  
  
No answer, not a verbal one at any rate. Dimitri merely nods his head, the movement almost more subconscious than an active choice. Claude makes his way across the courtyard. When he looks back, looks to Dimitri's cell, he can see the Voa still silently staring down at his hand.  
  
....Claude hopes it's a good change that he's going through. He hopes it's one that makes Dimitri happy.  
  
The guard on patrol in the church doesn't hear him when he sneaks on by, and the lights are off in the library when Claude slips through the doors. Unlike a lot of other places in the church, it's not a particularly grand place with enormous heavy doors that moan and creak at action.  
  
There's a bit of clicking, a squeak of the hinges that Claude notes, but it's not the loudest thing in the world... especially when he's fairly certain that the guard is on the other side of the building. He's not here to take anything yet, just... glance over at some of the more valuable books that common plebs like him aren't allowed access to. And then he's out again, door shut behind him once more.  
  
A couple of close calls, the mundane janitors and the more sly clergy all out and about, means it takes Claude a little while to get back to his room, but he manages regardless. Everyone else is asleep, and his door is well oiled from when he first dropped by. Claude goes through everything automatically, without thinking about how he's removing his clothes, or where he'll put the wax paper he took from Dimitri so there would be no evidence of his visit. For once, the practicalities of his life are just... put to the side.  
  
He can't stop thinking about it - all of it, his visit with Dimitri. His heart still flutters when he thinks about how Dimitri had reached out, had shown an interest in learning Fodlish again so that the two of them can communicate, can share parts of another. His heart aches when he considers how gently Dimitri had touched him, palm settling so sweetly against the side of his face.  
  
And then, in darker shades, how large it had been not only against his face, but, earlier, along his throat, and the gentle pinpricks of claws he now feels would never actually pierce his skin on purpose...  
  
Claude's mind is right in the middle of thinking about how it would have felt if Dimitri had used more of his palm against his throat, and how his heart had been beating so wildly, when he realizes just what turn his mind has taken. And when he realizes _that_ , he looks down as he removes his pants. Claude swears.  
  
Honestly, he should have known this would happen. While he's had some experience in regards to sex, he's never really done anything with a Voa... But Claude knows his own tastes pretty well. For crying out loud, he recognized that Dimitri was attractive before he realized it was Dimitri. It's in that towering height which makes Claude feel so small, and the powerful build of him whether he's slowly uncurling himself, all tense muscle, or how he moves... Even his fur, which hadn't been a thing Claude had thought he'd been into, is just so _soft_ -  
  
He swears, again, and dumps all of his clothing into a corner. That's it. He needs to do something about this, or else he's going to go to sleep with a hard-on. Worse, he might actually entertain the thoughts that are threatening to intrude upon his brain.  
  
And it's not that he has any feelings of _shame_ about his sexual desires, exactly... Although he's certain that the church wouldn't mind if he never had sex with anyone, assuming they ever learned about it. This branch especially. But while he might be fine with the occasional fling, although he never lets anyone tie him down -  
  
Dimitri doesn't deserve to have this potentially affecting what's happening here.  
  
Claude tugs his blanket off of his bed and smooths it out against the floor. While he's always had a lot of self control, necessary as it is to so much of his plans, he doesn't want to entertain these thoughts about Dimitri when his friend is still in the state that he is. If he can get Dimitri to even _like_ him again, that will be enough.  
  
If he starts toying with daydreams about the things he might want Dimitri to do to him, like those claws tracing along his bare skin or the feel of that hot breath against his neck - _Fuck_. Straightening up, only in his underthings, Claude grinds one palm against his face.  
  
His problem, he decides, is that he hasn't either indulged himself in anything sexual for a while, or he hasn't been meditating properly. The former, well... The former isn't really that surprising. For a little while now, he's had to do quite a few jobs in order to make himself look good for his higher ups, remind them why they keep him around so much.  
  
It's a position that allows him access to their ears, or their eyes, and that's a special thing all its own. As long as you can get someone to look at you, or listen to you, you can influence them. He's known that for a long while, and used it to his advantage.  
  
But it has filled up his schedule... and that has made it harder to stop by with some people he has a more casual arrangement with in other cities, far away from this miserable one. Settling down on the blanket, Claude sighs. It's also been a while since he's touched himself, too.... And maybe that would be the quick and easy solution to the current problem straining inside of his underwear. It just doesn't feel right to try.  
  
So. Meditation. Meditation to get these thoughts out of his mind for the time being, to settle down the hot blood coursing through him. Meditation to help ensure that he won't slip up around Dimitri. Resting his wrists against his knees, Claude takes in a deep breath.  
  
More than anything else, besides getting Dimitri free in the first place... He wants his friend to have freedom of the mental kind as well. He wants Dimitri to be in the state of mind where he can look out into the wider world, and can decide on what he wants to do for himself instead of the pressures of another person demanding nothing less.  
  
Living within a society is always going to ensure those kind of things are an influence, of course... Although maybe Dimitri won't want to live near people ever again once he gets free. Maybe he will. That's still far in the future, something they'll work through then. But regardless, there are still some things that a person can always do through their own independent desire instead of succumbing to outside pressure. At least, that's what a person can do when they aren't locked in a cell and forced to act as an executioner for those who don't even acknowledge they're a person.  
  
Deep breaths. In. Out. Slow. Claude lets his eyes stay closed and focuses on the tension in his body until he can work ease into each muscle. Shoulders and downwards. Right... He's not going to influence Dimitri like this.  
  
He's going to encourage him to find his own life, his own thoughts and opinions outside of those he's been forced to take. Another breath. And to do that... He won't let his own feelings get in the way. Dimitri doesn't need him being _horny_ to be a distraction... or, worse, offensive.  
  
His mouth starts to twitch into a frown before Claude catches himself, and he spares a few moments to relax his own expression. Honestly, that's guilt starting to set in, and he knows it. What kind of guy feels attraction, feels sexual interest, in a person living in such a miserable situation? An asshole, probably - or at least Claude knows that's the first and most automatic of feelings when thinking about it.  
  
But it was just a thought. Claude reminds himself of that as he sits there and breathes. It was just a thought - well, a series of thoughts, but only mental all the same. He's aware of it. He won't let it happen. He'll only focus on Dimitri, and getting Dimitri out of here. Maybe after all of that, _maybe_ then he'll entertain such sexual thoughts, romantic ones. Until then, however...  
  
He won't let himself get tempted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize How Much happened in that one night when me and Lymme initially roleplayed it out, but apparently So Much Definitely Happened. I could have spread it out a little more, but I think, in the context of Claude having been gone for so long, and how this is kind of the breaking point for Dimitri... It fit. 
> 
> And Claude gets punished for it by horny, so it's fine. 
> 
> Lyrics that contributed to this chapter's title: 
> 
> Laid to rest all my confessions I gave way back when.  
> Now I'm versed in so much worse,  
> So I am back again.


	5. Time Capsule for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. They fill their nights together with stories and stars. Claude fills his days with preparation for success.

The world calms.  
  
Or is it him who calms? Dimitri can't entirely be sure, has no better way to explain it. All he knows is that the world starts to exist, in a way that it never seemed to previously, and he finds himself... able to accept that.  
  
Claude continues to visit, on the nights that he can, and he takes the care to let Dimitri know of nights that he can't. Before, Dimitri thinks - knows that he would have been suspicious of this. What could his intentions possibly be? Certainly not what he told Dimitri. And yet... maybe that's _true_.  
  
There's no reason to go this far for a mere beast. There's no plot that could warrant placing one's throat willingly in his hands, allow such sharp claws near an archer's eye. Logically... Dimitri understands this. When he wrapped his fingers near Claude's throat, it was simply to make sure that the other man actually _felt_ something, yes. He can't deny that. But the second time, it...  
  
Sometimes, when he's not thinking, he finds himself staring down at his palm, and remembers how warm Claude had felt. It had been holding his hand that first night all over again... Simple, and warm, and soft. Real.  
  
Real, like his intentions must be.  
  
"It was _braid_ , in Fodlish, wasn't it?" he asks one night, when Claude has once again brought him some food filched from the kitchens. Nothing particularly elaborate or fancy tonight. That's fine. Dimitri would never ask for too much. Even warm bread is better than the slop he's given.  
  
Claude grins at him. "So you're still thinking about it?" he asks, as though he actually doubts the words he's saying. Some nights, Dimitri wonders if he has ever felt doubt at all, and then realizes that's a foolish question. With the life that he's lived, the things that he's said, of course Claude has to have some doubts. It's just that he never shows them. Dimitri would be envious, if he thought it mattered. "I suppose you really do like the idea of me with a braid."  
  
Whether he likes it or not shouldn't really matter, Dimitri thinks, so he shakes his head. "I've learned the names of foods, now," he says, glancing down to the strips of jerky that Claude has brought tonight. Venison, he thinks Claude had said. Deer. "And I can remember basic manners... So there has to be something else." Something else that he can practice, in the times that Claude is gone, something to keep his mind occupied and that may help him not look at the warped figures he sometimes sees. For a long time, most of his life now, they've been his only company... but Dimitri thinks he's outgrown the desire for them.  
  
Curled up again, arms wrapped around his legs, Claude taps his fingers along one calf. "Well then, if it's something new to have you learn... We could try fairy tales. Stories. things like that." Even as he's speaking, Claude's mind seems to move and grind, and he adds something on almost immediately. "Actually, you can see the stars from here, can't you?"  
  
Dimitri tilts his head up, towards something that is mostly stone, a little metal where the bars connect, and a hint of something inky and strange beyond both of those things. "...I suppose." He looks up only in order to tell the time, or when he's so sick or tired or injured that he can't do much besides lay on his back and stare upwards. Otherwise.... Otherwise, he doesn't care for it. All of that is too much a reminder.  
  
Claude doesn't press on his tone. All he does is crawl forward again, as though he's already forgotten the way Dimitri gripped at his throat not that long ago. "Then come closer," he says encouragingly, looking over his shoulder to Dimitri. "I'll point out the different stars to you, and tell you the constellation names in Fodlish. I'm afraid I don't know what they would be in Voali..."  
  
Slowly crawling forward, Dimitri looks not to the sky but Claude instead. "You don't?" he asks, brows rising. Somehow, that's the truly surprising thing. Claude has spoken Voali so well, better than even Dimitri feels he can speak it nowadays. For him to not know something in that language... Is he supposed to feel relieved, disappointed? The emotions don't make any sense, and all he can do is tiredly put them to the side for later.  
  
An amused chuckle slips past Claude's lips. "There are some things Voa aren't exactly eager to tell to people outside of their people, you know," he tells Dimitri, settling his legs again - one crooked up, the other sprawled out before him. "And sometimes there are simply things that don't come up in conversation. I've been able to travel outside this place a lot, and farther than some might dare to... but I've yet to really go where Voa are really plentiful, let alone where they'd be eager to teach some random human from the church their language." Winking, he taps his lips with one finger. "I'm an untrustworthy sort, you see."  
  
"...Wouldn't that be because of your personality...?"  
  
Claude breathes in too sharply, wheezing that quickly becomes coughing, and he ducks his head with a choked laugh. "Wow!" he gasps, hands covering his mouth so that his sounds aren't so loud. "You really don't hide anything, do you, Dimitri?"  
  
"It is not as though I am _wrong_ ," Dimitri insists, fingers twitching as he considers poking Claude's back with one claw. That's the kind of thing they would have done when they were young, right? Perhaps it's for that reason that he doesn't, instead, wrapping his fingers around the cage bars and looking up. "But you present yourself as so strange..."  
  
"Am I really that strange?" Claude's smile shifts once he's straightened up, no longer like the smile that Dimitri thought he saw before all of this. "I'm quite well liked by a lot of the people working here in this church, and in this city. And that's quite a feat, considering how this city is."   
  
In a single word, Dimitri thinks he understands a lot, although he doesn't have the time to gnaw over it like the bones that are sometimes tossed to him. But for _how this city is_.... He looks past Claude for a moment, towards the cold and empty hallway that opens up into the yard. In his mind, memories all blur together from the life he's lived simply watching people walk through and out of that hallway day after day, month after month, year after year. But, even ignoring the physical reality of everything....  
  
They've always seemed distant. Even to each other.  
  
"Anyway, we're getting sidetracked," Claude says casually, looking up towards the night sky again. His view of it must be so much more open than Dimitri's; he smiles when he tilts his head back. "So, the Fodlish word is _star_." And he does indeed say it in Fodlish, a single syllable word that exists so simply in his mouth.  
  
No matter how many times Dimitri hears Fodlish, he's never going to adjust to how _small_ it seems sometimes. " _Star_ ," he says, savoring that single syllable since he has the time to do so. "It seems.... far too small for what it is."  
  
Claude chuckles at him. "The Voali word is much more of a mouthful, isn't it?" He rolls his tongue in his mouth, as if he's physically tasting the word in all its length before allowing it to escape into the night air. Maybe that's why Dimitri pays so much more attention to it. "Mihrashiosuah. In Fodlish, that can be broken down into multiple words, on a technical level. Do you want to know what they are?"  
  
That has to be a hypothetical question. Dimitri decides not to bother with an answer. Instead, he continues staring up towards where the night sky glimmers. "That sounds confusing... "  
  
"Trust me, it's more confusing to some humans who try to learn Voali." Claude points up, dragging his finger through the air - across the sky. "Mihra is one word all on its own, you know that much. It's for what humans would call _night_. And shio is _circle_.... Or, well, I suppose it could be _orb_ , too."  
  
"Is there a difference?"  
  
Claude nods, and his finger drops down to the earth where there's plenty of dirt for him to draw in. "A _circle_ would be something more flat. You can draw a _circle_ , or walk in the shape of a _circle_ , and that's it. But an _orb_ is more... physical. Three dimensional. An apple is an _orb_. An eye, too." His finger pauses, right in the space where his finger has reconnected with the space where he started. "That reminds me... Circle is also something philosophical in Voali culture, isn't it?"  
  
It's been a long time since he's had to talk about that kind of thing... and yet, Dimitri is surprised to know, he can still recall those lessons from his childhood, and the way it would come up so often in people's names. Amazingly, it was such a common word. So common that he feels he took it for granted.  
  
Shaking his head, Dimitri pulls those memories together. "Yes... Because everything returns to itself." His gaze drifts back down to Claude's finger. "Nature. People. Cities. It is a flow that always is the same, even if things... seem to change."  
  
"Heh..." Claude removes his finger, taking care not to disrupt the circular outline he's drawn in the dirt. "That sounds just like the Voa I know. All philosophy. Well, every culture has something that it idolizes... Well, let's continue. So that leaves suah, and that translates to _small_ in Fodlish." Claude grins. "So, if you put it in the most strict and technical way possible, then the Voali word Mihrashiosuah becomes _night circle small_ in Fodlish."  
  
Cocking his head to the side, Dimitri considers the night sky once again. "...But only the most strict and technical way," he says after a moment, having chewed on Claude's sentence a little more.  
  
Claude beams. "I knew you had a bit of cleverness in you somewhere, Dimitri. Yeah, that's how it would be only if you stuck to the most bare bones way of translating things. It doesn't work perfectly, because that's not how different languages work. If you wanted to be a _little_ more accurate, then you'd put the describing words before the object - _small night circle_ would be closer to the correct order. It's small, and it appears at night, and those two things are considered important to go before the word _circle_. That's how you would describe most things while speaking casually."  
  
"But that is not _star_ ," Dimitri says, frowning. " _Small night circle_ and _star_ are different..."  
  
"Right again~," Claude says, voice quiet but in a definite sing-song kind of way. "That's only a step closer to a more accurate translation. With Voali, we're simply looking at how its different working parts would translate into Fodlish, but we don't _need_ to do all of that. We already have our own word, _star_. So all it ultimately comes down to is finding what other people mean when they speak. It seems complicated... but all you need to do is look, and you realize that their little word means something very specific, or that another person has many words bound into one. Even if it seems strange, it isn't really..."  
  
Claude... seems so animated when he speaks like this. Dimitri looks down from the sky to that shining face, with eyes that are as bright as the very stars they're talking about. Back when they were children, he was like this as well: always so excited and animated about whatever new things he could learn. "So you're still as talkative as you ever were..."  
  
"And you sound surprised every time," Claude notes in amusement, before he points again. "Anyway, that's _moon_ , and the ahnshio of Voali would translated to _silver circle_."  
  
Under his breath, Dimitri quietly repeats the words to himself, and their matching counterparts. Despite his rough words, he understands why Claude is going the roundabout way with his translations. It's one thing for Dimitri to learn _star_. It's another thing entirely for him to learn _small_ , or _night_ , or how descriptive words go in front of the object they're attached to. It's further effort... done for him.  
  
Sometimes, he wonders if Claude really expects him to use this other language at all. He wonders if there's a point to it, or if it's only meant as something that the two of them can do together. He wonders if Claude knows how much it means for him to have something he can focus on, and not look at the blurriness in the corner of his vision even now. "What are their names?" he asks, when he feels he's properly committed the words to memory for him to practice later.  
  
"Names..." Claude taps his fingers against his leg. "I take it you mean the names of the individual stars?"  
  
"Yes. Or... What they are as a group."  
  
"Constellations," Claude says, with no judgment to the fact that Dimitri needed a little help in remembering something from his own tongue, and giving the Fodlish word soon after. "Honestly, from this tiny little hole in the middle of the church, you can't see a lot of them..." He falls silent for a moment, staring up, before those too-green eyes focus back on Dimitri. "...Do you remember any star names, Dimitri? Or constellations?"  
  
Frankly, he suspects he could remember a lot more when he was younger... But Dimitri does his best to shift through his memories regardless. It's easier to actually look up past the bars, and see the shine and swirl of stars. "...I think so... But it's been so long. I might be wrong..."  
  
When he looks down again, Claude is still smiling at him, but... gentler. Quieter. "That's alright," he says, voice matching his smile. "It's okay if you're wrong. I can always help you figure it out... and I can still tell you what their names are in Fodlish. Right?"  
  
Well. Dimitri can't argue with him there. Looking back up to the stars, he searches for one in particular. "I am not sure if it is here.... But... Ahnmehn."  
  
" _Silver finger_ ," Claude murmurs, the latter word which Dimitri takes into himself as well. "That's a rather unique name. Is it a star or a constellation?"  
  
"Star. I remember... being told the story when I was young." When he was younger in his captivity, he would tell it to himself - or his illusions would tell it for him, something to help drown out his situation. "One of the gods wished to go on a journey in the beginning of everything, when all of the world and the universe was still new. So she dipped her fingers into her own soul, staining them in that color as though they were only droplets of water.  
  
"Wherever she went, she would reach up, and her fingers would press into the darkness of the sky, leaving behind the brilliant shine of her soul in small dots. However, she wandered about so much... and left behind so many marks... That she soon realized that she had made herself lost all over again."  
  
Covering his mouth with one hand, Claude laughs a little. "Well, she sounds like my kind of person - curious and with thought out plans that go awry. So what happened to this god?"  
  
"She decided that she'd simply make a home for herself, and that would be right where she'd ended up." Ignoring more of Claude's snickering, Dimitri continues. "So she decided to celebrate her newfound home by scattering the rest of her soul nearby, and made the core of herself the brightest light of all that would go nowhere, unmoving and not budging against the shifting tides of the night sky." Dimitri rubs the pad of one finger over his thumb claw. "My father... always told me that if I headed in the direction of Ahnmehn, I'd always be heading north... And I'd always know my way."  
  
Claude makes a soft noise of understanding. "Oh, so it's that star... Yeah, there's no good way to look at it from here," he agrees, his gaze already scanning the sky for any sign of it. "In Fodlish, that's called _the Mother's Star_... In no small part because of the church."  
  
It's hard to be particularly surprised about that bit of news, Dimitri has to admit. Everything seems to revolve around the church... whether he or Claude or anyone else likes it or not. At least, that's how it is in this country.... wherever it may be.  
  
Down that path of thought, however, lies nothing but unpleasantness. So he looks back at Claude again. Claude, with that dark curly hair, and his brown skin, and the various little details to his features which make him not seem like anyone else here. "...What about Almyra?"  
  
Blinking, Claude looks away from the stars and at him. "Almyra? You mean what the name for Ahnmehn is in Almyran?" He looks away quite suddenly, and Dimitri wonders if he's said something wrong. It doesn't seem as though he has, because Claude continues to talk. "Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say that whoever came up with the first name wasn't really the most imaginative... It was just _Rucaba_ \- and that just means 'star' itself." Claude chuckles. "But I guess the first people who came up with it weren't poets, or spiritual types, or anything like that. They were simply hunters, and they only needed to know the most important star in the sky was the brightest one that never wavered in its place."  
  
"What a simple life..."  
  
"Ha, I know, right? It's almost enough to make you jealous."  
  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes, he thinks about the childhood daydreams he used to have when it came to Dimitri. About somehow rescuing him from his imprisonment, and the two of them just running off to Almyra, where they could be some measure of safe, and welcomed, and everything would be alright. Claude knows it's not that simple, especially with how much their lives have changed... But he still thinks about it, sometime.  
  
However, he can only afford to think about it _sometimes_. There are more important things in his life than childhood dreams he used to entertain, and so Claude works hard. He works as hard as he possibly can, taking on every _task_ he possibly can. It's more than just to endear himself to various people, although he absolutely needs that if he wants any plan of his to work out in the end.  
  
"And _this_ guy!" one of the drinking night regulars says, faux-indignant as zie takes his ear. "Just the other day, I saw him dropping by the kitchens! Trying to get on the cooks' good sides, are we?"  
  
Laughing, Claude allows himself to be tugged a little bit. "Hey, don't blame me for thinking of the idea first!" he jokes, cradling a small flask of booze that's been passed around the circle a good couple of times now. None of his current partying companions have realized that it's still as full as when he received it; Claude doesn't intend to get so drunk that he can't visit Dimitri later on. "Isn't it just common sense to kiss up to the cooks?"  
  
A round of laughter passes through the group, just like he passes on the flask, and the person next to him takes a sip despite the quality being more than a little regrettable. Claude knows from the smell. But that can't be helped, just like the next thing someone deigns to complain about. "Honestly, if we got more impressive food, I would prostrate myself before them as though they were the next saint incarnate!"  
  
"Don't let one of the monks hear you say that, or else you'll really be in it... And anyway, I didn't hear you complaining last harvest festival, when you wouldn't stop stuffing your face-"  
  
Just banter. Like it is every night that this little motley crew manages to meet up. It's just banter, and playfulness, and a bit of respite. Claude knows what they all mean, of course. He understands that a certain level of care has to be taken here. Frankly, he's fortunate that Henning liked him enough to introduce him to these drinking nights, with its range of different people. Anywhere else...  
  
Someone tells a joke. He laughs on cue along with everyone else. Humans can only live so much of the kind of life that the church wants them to, as a general rule. It's in their nature to try and find some form of happiness, of ease, even in times of strife and misery. Out past the walls that Claude can almost see from their chosen place tonight, there's a whole world to explore... that most of these people will never see. A world where they could be a little happier, instead of huddling together, in a place that can't be seen by most monks or nuns and the like that pass through the halls at this time of night.  
  
Maybe if they were all happier, they'd find it easier to be better people - people who don't so carelessly talk about the last execution as they all pass the drink around, marveling at the gore they'd witnessed. Maybe they'd be able to refer to Dimitri, their "Executioner", as a living person instead of the soulless corrupt monster that the higher priests pass him off as.  
  
Or maybe, Claude muses as the flask comes around to him again, they'd still be the very same. Just like the priests higher up on the ladder who must surely know the true sins that they're committing. But he can't afford to think too heavily on that.  
  
Instead, his mind drifts off, thinks of the last lessons he had with Dimitri. The two of them had pointed at the stars, and Claude had done his best to recall various myths or legends he'd heard about them all. What purpose different stars and constellations served when one was on the road. When he manages to finally free Dimitri, and the two of them are on the road... Will Dimitri remember all of that? Will he be able to find his way, even if they're separated?  
  
Even if Dimitri decides to go off on his own, without Claude?  
  
"Ahhh, maybe I should become a teacher," he says suddenly, and takes at least some amusement in the befuddled blinks of his companions.  
  
Recovering, the person on the other side of him laughs a little. "Now where did that come from? Are you sick of the hunting life already? But you're so good at it- you're one of the people I have to thank when we get particularly plump pheasants!"  
  
"And you were teasing me just earlier about sucking up to the cooks," Claude laughs right back, glad to play off any melancholy one of them might have noticed with this kind of joking. "Is that all I am to you? The pheasant hunter?" Lightly, he smacks their shoulder. "At any rate, I was thinking about my future, thank you very much. One of these days, I'm going to be too old to go hunting, like Henning."  
  
That earns another round of laughter, and even Henning is grinning as he shakes a fist at Claude. "Remember who gives you your jobs!"  
  
"Yes, yes, I apologize to my great and benevolent overlord," Claude says, giving an over-exagerrated bow which earns more laughter. "And if this humble hunter may make a request, it's that I don't get the kind of heavy job that you have to do every day of your life, when I become older myself..."  
  
More laughter, more teasing, more talking about how long Henning has been at his job. Soon, he really will deserve to live a quiet life where he can hopefully watch his children grow up. Claude doubts it will happen in this city. He certainly hopes _he_ won't be here long enough.  
  
And yet, unaware of his plans, one of the group turns to him with a light chuckle. "Hey, maybe if you're lucky, you'll get placed over at the gate out of the city. That old geezer there is lucky... He doesn't hardly have to do anything on the night shift."  
  
Someone across the circle grumbles. "Ugh, tell me about it. Half the time, he dozes off.... When we're attacked by robbers or barbarians from the south, I will bet cold hard money that they'll make it in on his shift. When is he going to kick the bucket already? Better people could be put to work there..."  
  
"Hey, hey, don't speak ill of innocent men, you know the scripture..."  
  
Something in the air seems to shift uneasily, and Henning helps move the conversation along towards something else. Still, nothing escapes Claude's attention. He glances over the person who had initially complained, and at someone who's fallen silent with a certain heaviness to their expression. He keeps their faces in mind, and makes a mental note to check in on the exact people who man the gates out of the city.  
  
  
  
  
  
"So the twins made themselves a home up in the sky?"  
  
"That's right." Claude lowers his hands, relaxed and comfortable right where he is. This is despite the fact that "where he is" would be leaning against the hard metal bars of Dimitri's cage. Dimitri has always had to make due, but he has to admit he's impressed that Claude can do the same even though he's surely had access to better things. "That's how a lot of Almyran tales are. We have the fantastical, the historical, sure... but it's not a culture that believes in being saved by anything 'higher' than you. If there's anything that's high, and seemingly out of reach... You work to get it yourself."  
  
That sounds more fantastical than any of the creatures or magic that Claude has talked about tonight, and Dimitri reflects on it with his face pressed up against the bars. "They sound... very independent," he says slowly, wondering what it's like.   
  
A smile crosses Claude's face. "That's certainly one way to put it... There are a lot of problems if one follows Almyran culture too narrowly, I think, but that's true for everywhere you go.... And I don't think that takes away from the beautiful parts of any place or people. And if there's one thing I have to appreciate about Almyran culture... It's definitely how they believe that things happen because you make them happen."  
  
What an interesting view of things... and yet, even as Dimitri admires that kind of initiative, he can't help but wonder at the way Claude phrases it. As though it's something separate from himself. A part of him wants to ask more about Almyra, like when they were children, but he refrains this time. Instead, he stars up at the sky again. "...I wonder what it looks like, from so high above."  
  
"You mean if you lived up in the night sky too, like those twin stars?" Claude asks. "Who knows... You must be able to see the land stretching out forever from underneath your feet." He hums. "Although I wonder if that really means anything in the end."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, if you lived that high up in the sky, you could certainly see how far the land stretches out, all the large lakes or rivers and maybe even the sea... But you'd lose track of the details." Down in the dirt, Claude begins to doodle again. When he leaves, Dimitri will have to take care to wipe away every trace he's ever left behind, even if the guards of this place would think it simply him getting bored. Even so... He doesn't want anyone else to find out about Claude's presence. "You'd miss the smaller ponds and creeks... And if you could see villages and towns from so far up, you might miss all the individual people going about their lives."  
  
Little details like that... are important to Claude. Dimitri learned that a long time ago. So all of that makes sense. And yet... "But on the other side," he murmurs, staring at the stars that really do seem so out of reach, "they would not see you, either."  
  
No one to look at him twice. No one to think of his existence. No one who would be terrified of the monster that they chained of their own free will, although he has never harmed something without them encouraging it. What a life it would be, if he could live so high up in the sky.  
  
"Is that what you would want, then?" Claude asks him quietly, eyes still brighter than anything Dimitri has ever seen from his cage. Those bright green eyes.... They remind him of somewhere that seems to slip out of his grasp with every passing day. Or, it used to. "To live a life completely away from other people?"  
  
Is it? Dimitri falls silent, rubbing the pad of one finger against his cage's bars. "I've never thought about it before," he admits quietly, which he doubts is a surprise to Claude. "It doesn't really matter, I suppose." And for a second, he thinks that Claude might press, might talk about more of the life that's outside his cage.  
  
He doesn't. Claude only nods, because there was really no other answer that could have ever emerged, and he laces his fingers over one knee again. Dimitri looks back down at what he was doodling, and finds something almost like a map. Like what a person would see, if they lived high up in the night sky, and everything could be divided so easily. "I suppose that's fair. At any rate... With how quickly we're going through the stars and constellations, I'm starting to think that we might need to find some new material."  
  
"There is not much to study from within here..."  
  
"Then I'll just have to bring it here instead." Claude smiles, drawing another circle around the little map he's drawn, as though it's part of its own world. Dimitri wonders if it's anywhere in particular that he's traveled to, or if he simply made it up based on those travels. "It's not that hard, you know. I can read books, and find more stories for us to go over. If there's one thing this church is good for, it's that it hoards books and keeps them in good condition." A pause, and he cocks his head to the side. "Well.... So long as they're certain kinds of books."  
  
Certain kinds of books... Dimitri makes a low noise of disgust, tail flicking through the dirt floor behind him. "I assume that they have nothing that would disrupt the image they're trying to make of the rest of the world," he mutters.  
  
Yet another subtle change in Claude's smile. It's become a pasttime of Dimitri's to figure out the sheer range Claude can produce. This is one that blossoms occasionally on his lips when talking about certain aspects of the church. "Anything that might drag a poor innocent into sin has to be condemned completely and utterly," he confirms. "It hardly matters how it's depicted... Although there are some folks who definitely argue about that. But to keep a holy place holy, a lot of it doesn't end up in the library unless it's really over the top."  
  
"How so?" Maybe he shouldn't ask. Why should he care? Dimitri knows he'll never see what this library is like, never get to hold a book in his hand - well, no, perhaps he will. If it's Claude, who so eagerly loves to slide food inbetween the bars of his cage, perhaps he can't say "never" for something as simple as a book. Still.... He's never seen the library of this place, although he knows, in theory, what it must look like. Still, there's no reason for him to care.  
  
...And yet he can't help be curious, staring at Claude, watching that expression shift through so many emotions and brightness as he talks.  
  
For something like this, there doesn't quite seem to be brightness, not if the way Claude blows out a breath is any indication. "Well, let's see... There are a lot of things that we could choose from. Like..." Claude pauses, glancing over Dimitri again. No doubt he's choosing his words carefully. Claude often does that with him and it's... strange, to consider. Dimitri never knows how to respond in the face of it, and so he chooses, like he has multiple times in the past, to not. "Oh, I know. Violence and murder is a good one."  
  
Of course it's something like that. Dimitri's own scoff mimics the way Claude blew out his breath a moment ago, and that sharp grin turns more amused for only a second. "Is the only violence in those tales violence done by an executioner, then?" he asks, curling up on the ground again.  
  
"Surprisingly, less of that than you might think," Claude says, adjusting himself so that he's leaning more in Dimitri's direction. There's only so much the two of them can do... and that might be for the better, Dimitri thinks. Frankly, Claude still getting this close is still strange and not something he'd ever recommend, but here they are. "A lot of the stories only have violence or death if it's from something that humans can't control... And only if it's in the form of some lesson or another. It may shock and surprise you to know, but those lessons often end up something like... Oh, you were struck by lightening because you didn't do your nightly prayers!" He waves his hand flippantly through the air. "Or something along those lines."  
  
Dimitri wrinkles his nose. "....Lightning as a punishment for no praying?" That... is hard for him to imagine. It's such a little thing. Even in his life, filled so often with little to nothing, is one where he could easily imagine slipping up and not doing something so minor as that. His average nights are one thing, but the nights where he's put into that ring? Where he can barely think, can barely breathe, from the blood he's swallowed? That... is ridiculous.  
  
"That's how it is," Claude says, voice taking on a certain dry tint to it. "The best way to control people is with fear, sometimes.... At least, if you're looking for _fear_ and not understanding, or wanting what's best for them." Almost immediately, he shakes his head, as if trying to beat away some particularly unkind thoughts. "Or... sometimes it's not about what's best for other people, but because you don't have any other idea of what else you can or should do."  
  
There it is again.... Claude's eagerness to see the best in people. Is 'eagerness' even the right word? Dimitri wishes he could say, one way or another... but he can't. Instead, he looks down to that little map, with the circle around it. "...So all the stories are like that, then. Are they?"  
  
"More or less," Claude agrees. "There are no shades of gray, just strict black and white, and you better hope that the white is more prevalent than the black. But even that can be difficult to accomplish... Because that's not how people are designed. There are so many things that the church denounces as a sin, or monstrous, or evil, that are simply.... what people _do_ , for whatever reason."  
  
Claude needn't look at him for Dimitri to understand the most notable example of this worldview. He knows that he is the most prime example of it, even if he has never read a single book in the church's library. He only need exist... and they find him revolting.  
  
Although, while he may be the most extreme example.... Dimitri frowns, thinking of that tale of lightning and prayer. There's a question teasing at his tongue, one that he can't help but give voice to. "Do... all of them believe that?"  
  
Once again, there's a rhythm of tapping along Claude's legs, his fingers seeming so - elegant in the way they move. Dimitri can imagine them doing so many things, nothing at all like his own filthy bloodstained fingers. "Well... That's the complicated thing. In general, of course you would have every other person saying that of course they're on the same side... But it's the details that get complicated."  
  
"I suspect many things are agreed on in general... and get complicated when it comes to the details."  
  
Another shift of that grin. Amusement. "Ah, so wise and world weary already," Claude drawls, before nodding. "But you're right. For example... Some people say that any depiction of violence in a tale is a terrible thing that might tempt someone to commit such a terrible sin. It doesn't matter if you're telling it explicitly to condemn it at the very end with some feel good ending. It doesn't matter if you're writing a biography of your own life, as someone who had to survive abuse, or war, or anything else. The existence alone is the terrible thing. It's a sin that deserves punishment."  
  
Dimitri flexes his hand in, out. His claws prick at his palm. "....And the sinners are sent to me."  
  
"If it makes you feel better, then I don't think any writer was ever sent to you," Claude says, almost... soothingly. "As long as no one actually dies, then it's not like it's real murder. The church just judges regardless, and makes their life miserable in other ways. Depending on things... Sometimes even with violence."  
  
A pause. Dimitri squints. "...Even though violence can lead to death?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
His ears start to lower. "Would that not be more of a sin than simply writing about violence, or even death?"  
  
"You would think!" Claude says, in that overly cheerful way that means he's _absolutely_ being sardonic. It disappears quickly enough, another low breath. "But for some people.... They think it's only right that people they believe to be 'bad', whether or not that's the actual upfront truth, should get whatever punishment is available... It's as though the rights of a person cease to exist in their eyes."  
  
Both of them fall silent, thinking of... many things. Dimitri can't speak for Claude, of course. Still, in his mind, he thinks of the boy from back then. The boy who would show up with bruises, and all on his own. A battered lonely boy meeting an imprisoned one... Both of them, for different and similar reasons alike, treated lesser.  
  
Slowly, Dimitri's eyes drift, seemingly without any particular goal at first. He looks away from those restless eager fingers, hands that seem as though they would grasp the stars themselves if they could. He looks away from the little map drawn in the dirt, a circle holding a small portion of the world.  
  
He's almost not sure when he does it but, before Dimitri knows it, he's reached through the bars and taken a small bit of Claude's belt to hold inbetween his fingertips. "I suppose.... that's the true root of evil," he murmurs. "Of thinking so lowly of a person that..."  
  
His words trail away, lost in the memory of a hundred different painful events. How many times has he seen someone be pushed into the ring that bore bruises from events before their own imprisonment? How many looked too thin to be truly a problem? Perhaps some did deserve to die, with something in their eyes that always set his fur bristling... But did they deserve him?  
  
Has anyone deserved him?  
  
Fingers brush against his own, a whole hand, and that would be Claude. Not close enough to grasp him, but close enough that it's an offer. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "But that's some pretty dour thinking, and here I was talking about how I'd bring you some stories so we could keep up with our lessons."  
  
Oh. Right. That _was_ what they were talking about, wasn't it? Dimitri stares down at Claude's hand, as patiently as always. Just sitting there, waiting for him to take it.  
  
Dimitri doesn't take Claude's hand... but he does look up at him, at the way the profile of his face is lit up by the passing moon, and says, "If I get to choose the stories... Then, heroes."  
  
"Heroes... Heh." Claude is looking down, too, at where their hands stay so close together - his in offering, Dimitri still holding onto his cloth belt. "Like the ones who go on grand adventures, and save innocent people, huh? I probably won't be able to find any of the really good ones here... but there still have to be some things. They can't tell the story of their saint without a good story or five to convert followers and excite believers.  
  
"Yeah... Next time I visit, I'll be sure to have some exciting stories to tell you."  
  
  
  
  
  
One day, Henning pulls him to the side, over in the warehouse for all their dried goods, and whispers to him, "There won't be any meetings after work for a while. Hopefully your name stays out of it, but, basically, do you remember from a couple of weeks ago, when all that talk got turned around to the guy who does night shifts at the gates?"  
  
Claude does remember very well, in fact. He remembers the grumbling, how quick people were to put it down, that sullen silence from one person in particular. With all of that information in his hands, he's completely unsurprised to hear that the sullen individual ended up snitching on the other, although the _why_ is still interesting all on its own. Apparently, the person who'd fallen silent had gone that way because someone in their family had gotten married to the gate guard, and, well, insult family, no matter how newly made that bond is...  
  
Heh. Well, one needs all the allies they can get.  
  
That's why, immediately after Henning leaves him to it, Claude contrives a reason to run into good ol' Mx. Sullen.  
  
It doesn't take much. All this time spent in those little afterwork drinking sessions wasn't just to have a good time, to find some bit of relaxation in a city that still feels far too stifling. He's long since taken note of every single person's name, and what they do throughout the church, the city. With what he's trying to do, it's a vital step.  
  
And so one day they happen to stumble upon each other in the vegetable gardens, and he smiles, and charms, and does all the things he's really good at, because he's had to be good at them. It goes perfectly according to plan, and he sees them soften when he hands over some fruit from the latest delivery into the city.  
  
The finishing blow is a pat on the back and a lowering of his voice as he says, "Well, it was good to see you! We should all get together for drinking again. You like that sweet wine from the coastal cities, right? I was thinking of picking it up the next time I'm sent out for trading!"  
  
There it is - a little bit of hesitation. "Actually, that might not be a good idea... Hey, you don't have a job to do right away, right?"  
  
And that's how Claude gets told things from Mx. Sullen's side of things, and how the grumbler from before didn't get in _too_ much trouble. All that happened was just some light disciplinary action for a little bit of wine that was drank for one night.... Or at least that's what was reported.  
  
Still, now the church is on the alert for any other troublemaking boozehounds. Overindulgence is a sin, after all. Mx. Sullen insists that the person who got reported in the first place won't be that big of an issue in the future.... Maybe they'll even learn a lesson about badtalking others!  
  
It's an excuse, and Claude is pretty sure they know it as much as he does. Still, he shows sympathy in all the right places, nods where he should, and ends up agreeing to take on a little favor for them. You know, run down a late lunch down to some family. Not the guard at the gate... But Claude does it anyway with a smile and some well wishes.  
  
Grains of sand add up to a desert... or a beach. That's a philosophy he's lived by, and one he doesn't plan on abandoning anytime soon. What's really difficult is juggling all the corresponding pieces, even as he makes himself welcome to the poor family that's been "slandered" and makes some good excuses to the grumbler from before. It takes skill. It takes time. It takes a lot of honey sweet words, but he manages to slide through things without any consequences falling onto his own head.  
  
One day, on the way out of town for another round of hunting for a summer festival that's coming around the corner, he stops by for a quick chat. It's not surprise for him to find the wife and kid of his dear "party friend" drop by with their child in tow. He lingers a little longer, smiles and makes polite conversation, before he notices the book the girl is holding tightly in her arms. "A reader already, huh?" he asks, feeling fond memories tug at him.  
  
There was a time when he too was a heavy reader. He'd store away in the library so that the usual bullies and like wouldn't dare harass him, lest their noise draw the aggravation of the librarian. Hopefully, the girl in front of him has a simple and pure love of the activity. Certainly he wishes he could have.  
  
For his nosiness, the girl immediately shoves the book up at him, and Claude laughs a little as he accepts, crouching down to browse through it. He waves off the mother, not minding the task, and lets the adults talk while he reads through the book with the child. If it's something she's proud of, then it's the least he can do to accept. What can he say? He supposes he has a soft spot for kids... Maybe to make up for how no one had a soft spot for him, or Dimitri, when they were younger.  
  
It's honestly a good story, in the end. Claude keeps it in mind when he waves good bye to the guard and the mother and the kid. Even if it was simple, and maybe a little idealistic...  
  
He hopes Dimitri will like it, when he tells it to him later that night.  
  
  
  
  
  
As a general rule, Dimitri does his best to sleep throughout the day, because there's honestly nothing else for him to do. That was true a year ago, when it was only himself that he had to bother thinking about. Now, he stays awake at night for better food that settles his stomach. He stays awake to practice foreign words that still seem awkward on his tongue, and that don't come to him so quickly. He stays awake for the sight of a careful shadow slipping through the courtyard, those bright green eyes catching moonlight when there's any of it to spare.  
  
Yet sometimes he manages to wake up when daylight shines bright, and the sound of many footsteps and noisy voices interferes with his sleep. It's stays that way for a few days, and he's not particularly surprised about it. Days pass him by meaninglessly, and he has no names to describe the changing of seasons here. And yet, every so often, it's been impossible for him to ignore how sometimes the people of the church get worked up. Sometimes, it's because of an execution, and that's the only thing he *truly* cares about. It's the only thing he's kept alive for, after all.  
  
But other times... Other times, it for different reasons. Happier reasons, as far as Dimitri can tell when he looks into the hallway and sees smiles on people's faces. There are no plants in the courtyard, save for short grass, so the difference between spring and summer and fall is negligible.... Still.  
  
He can sense the heat in the air, his fur feeling damp and annoying. He can see how long the sun lingers in the sky. Their happiness is a familiar thing, not because he has known it or felt any kindness from it, merely because it has happened time and time again throughout his whole life.  
  
"It's a festival," Claude explains when Dimitri finally feels like asking, peeling an apple in his hand with a short knife. Dimitri watches it carefully, and wonders if he can do the same with his claws. Certainly they're long enough, and little help with other fine details. "Academically, they say it's in celebration of the day the Saint cleansed this land, and bade the forefathers of the city to build here. If you ask _me_ , it's simply a day to throw to the masses, something to momentarily make them happy as though that makes up for their living conditions otherwise."  
  
When Claude says things like that, it seems so obvious, even if Dimitri has never been allowed familiarity with the city itself at all. "Does no one notice?"  
  
A low hum. "When you've completely exhausted yourself just trying to stay alive... You don't really pay attention to why you'd be allowed to sleep for a long time, right?" And Dimitri can't argue with that.  
  
Well, he supposes it doesn't affect him anyway. That's what Dimitri initially thinks, until a thought slips into his mind, like the man who sits before him slips through shadows. "...Will you go?"  
  
"I suppose I should," Claude muses, taking the apple skin and leaving it right on the small bit of cloth outside of Dimitri's cage. While Dimitri has seen humans in the courtyard toss away apple skins out of distaste, or simply bite into the fruit whole, he likes to eat them as a separate thing, he's learned. There's a particular snap to them which he enjoys, something softer than what he usually snaps between his teeth. "A lot of people are going to be there, probably the whole city if they haven't been punished in some way or aren't otherwise busy. I'm a pretty popular guy. If I'm not seen, people would just be _heartbroken_."  
  
Sometimes, he really can't say just how genuine Claude is acting. Now is a perfect example, and he frowns slowly. "But you can be annoying," he says, and waits out Claude's wheeze of laughter.  
  
"And yet you haven't tried to chase me off again," he counters, eyes glittering brighter than they did talking about the festival. "A lot of the people I work with haven't even come _close_ to that, so I'll pretend I can stroke my ego a little bit and say that I'm popular instead. How about that?"  
  
That's the thing about arguing with Claude - Dimitri is fairly certain he's never really _won_ in these sorts of exchanges. He huffs, and leaves it be. "Do as you like. Are festivals like that worth going to in the first place?"  
  
"They aren't bad." Claude shrugs. "You see people's better sides during them... Although I won't lie, you can also see their _worst_ sides, too. You can ask..." He trails off, then, and considers Dimitri. "...Hey, do you remember festivals from when you were a kid?"  
  
Dimitri looks not into his eyes, but down at the apple. It's become frozen in Claude's hands, the knife still notched right into its flesh in preparation of a slice. Claude has such clever hands; it's something worth admiring since it is something that Dimitri knows he'll never have. "Bits and pieces," he says, and Claude's hands go back to slicing the apple into the neatest little half-crescents. "There were a lot of festivals. For seasons changing... And for the gods."  
  
Finishing a couple of slices, Claude places them down right besides the skin, and Dimitri finally reaches out to take one. The skin comes first, while it's still crisp and fresh. "I've heard that the Voa know many gods as well, instead of just one and numerous saints. I really am curious about it, honestly... But as you might expect, it's one of those things that is rarely explained." A soft laugh. "Maybe one day I'll be able to travel far enough to the right city, and someone will take pity on a guy too nosy for his own good."  
  
"It will have to be someone with patience as deep as the sky, then."  
  
"Because I'm annoying?"  
  
"Because that's at least how deep your curiosity is." Claude bites back his laughter so hard and suddenly that he snorts as though his brain might pop out from his nostrils. Dimitri lets him have a moment to recover, snapping through the apple skin in satisfaction. "If there is any Voa who could withstand your endless questions, I would think them a god in disguise, surely."  
  
Wiping his face, Claude grins at him. "Then they'd best hope their acting skills are just as divine as their existence, because I'd have even more questions if I found out what they were," he says playfully. "Do the Voali gods do that often? Disguise themselves and wander amongst the people who worship them?"  
  
"There were a few tales like that, I think..." He wishes he could remember more. Once upon a time, it was him, and his friends, listening raptly as an older brother excitedly gestured and talked. "I wonder if that's how one of the holiday festivals came to be... Although I can't remember if I was ever told."  
  
"A holiday celebrating gods walking among Voa?"  
  
Dimitri shakes his head, nibbling upon the apple skin a little more. "No... But, I remember there being lots of costumes. It was something special to do with the changing of seasons... As the air began to chill. There would be a rainbow of colors, with certain people dressed up in ways."  
  
It had been such an exciting time - warm and bright and merry despite how the air was turning colder by the day. Even now, after so many years... He's surprised that, if he tries, he can actually remember watching people running amuck. He'd be with his friends, laughing and cheering at the shows.  
  
He doesn't realize Claude is watching until the man speaks up. "What did people dress up like?"  
  
His claws are so clumsy with something as thin and delicate as an apple skin. Dimitri turns it over in his hands. "There were... seven things you could dress up as. They were all connected to a particular color... I remember that my friends and I all wanted to take part in the adult costumes... There was a green one where people could relax from all the activity, and a deep blue one - sometimes their eyes would be covered, and they'd have coins in their clothes."  
  
"Blindfolded and with coins in their clothes... That's certainly rather unique. Do you remember why they did that?"  
  
"There were others who also wore deep blue, and had their fur covered in paint," Dimitri explains quietly, lost in thought and memories. His best friend... He'd been so eager to mimic that same game with the rest of them, and he'd even one day gone to try and fetch - "Bells... The ones without blindfolds wore bells. And they were always sneaking up on their other halves..."  
  
They'd all made quite the ruckus, hadn't they, when his friend's brother was old enough to take part? They'd chased after and hounded him for ages on what he would do, and if he knew the others who decided to take part. That was him who'd clung so much, wasn't it?  
  
Claude's voice is soft. Gentle. "Sounds fun. Sounds like they had to take the coins. That must have been exciting to watch. You said you wanted to take part, right? Did you want to wear that dark blue costume?"  
  
Once upon a time, Hralevon had wanted to do it with him. They'd argue over who would wear coins, and who would wear bells, and if they were better at one or the other. But he'd been interested because Hralevon had been interested. In reality-  
  
"There was a different one that I was curious about. One that was a lighter blue... Like a clear sky. They wore a veil across their face, and kept their horns hidden. People would whisper things to them... My parents wouldn't tell me what, only that I was too young to bother with such things. But sometimes I'd see one person speak to them, and they'd guide that person to another... And they'd seem happy."   
  
He had loved seeing that happen, to the point that, if his friends were busy with other festivities, he used to follow the ones in that bright sky blue around and hope that would happen. That people would be pulled together, with that bright brilliant look on their faces. He, too, had wanted to be entrusted with secrets whispered to him, and use those for good. For the sole purpose of making people smile like that at one another.  
  
Even now, he still doesn't quite know what people whispered to the those in sky blue, but he can spot understanding light up Claude's eyes. "Something like that, huh...?" He smiles, endeared, sweet. It's the kind of look that Dimitri thinks he'd like to see more on his face, genuine as it is. "Well. That kind of holiday sounds really exciting. What others can you tell me about?"  
  
It's funny, the things that stick in the mind. Dimitri hasn't celebrated that holiday in years, and yet he can still remember so much about it. There'd been songs for children to remember the colors and their roles, food he can almost recall the scent of, being with his friends... It doesn't feel as though he should remember, but he does.  
  
He remembers, and he passes those memories onto Claude.  
  
  
  
  
  
"You know, you really are like a stray cat. Always popping in and out whenever you please?"  
  
Claude laughs, and turns away from the wagon that he's escorted this time. For the first time in a long while, it feels as though he's able to laugh honestly and without holding himself back. He's slowly started to laugh when he's with Dimitri, of course, especially with how much more relaxed the Voa has become in turn around him... But even then, he has to restrain himself. Loud laughter could draw attention to the fact that someone was visiting the fearsome executioner, and, well... That would be suspicious all on its own. Claude can't afford that.  
  
But here, in the small town of Aile, a good distance away from the cold church walls and all its land, he can laugh. He definitely has reason to, seeing that familiar smiling face.  
  
"Hey, don't blame me that the jobs the church sends me on are so inconsistent," he teases as Leonie walks forward with a worn pack of her own slung over her shoulder. There's a bit of a shine to her hair, and dirt underneath her fingernails - no doubt she's just come back from hunting, with fresh good to trade. The antlers strapped to the outside of her pack are clear to see, and in fine condition. "Do you think I'd really be the same if I worked for them?"  
  
"Maybe you'd be worse," Leonie says, and he laughs again. Both of them together enter the merchant's general shop, with things to trade and exchange. With his lot, it takes quite a bit of time, and yet Leonie still waits for him. She helps pass the time as the two of them talk about the changing seasons, any peculiar or noteworthy movements from the animals, the jackalope she carefully hunted only this morning before the sun had even peeked over the horizon. It's nice. Helps make dull work a little bit easier.  
  
It would be a shame to leave the town when he's only just arrived, and there are other things he wants to look into as well. The wide plains which stretch out past the town borders, where the mountains are a distant daydream, make for excellent ranches, and Claude always feels his blood pumping whenever he looks out at them. It must show on his face somehow, because Leonie chuckles. "I hope you didn't push that cart horse of yours too much," she says as the two of them make their way out of the shop.  
  
"I love horses too much to torment them, thank you very much," he replies with a cheeky grin. "Besides, you can't properly go racing through the plains with a wagon attached. I have my own steed for that."  
  
Leonie hums, as though she doesn't believe him. Ah, disbelievers. Claude leaves it as the morning marketplace comes into view. It's filled to bursting with other people who've traveled here to also sell or exchange their goods, full of noise and smells.  
  
Claude knows he's lucky in this way. With how the church has made a connection with that one store, the exchange is done in the blink of an eye, relatively speaking. He's become well known in both hunting and transportation, so there's no need to doubt his word anymore... at least, not with the same people they've been working with all this time. All that's left to do is wait for them to unload what he brought, and pack up what he's here for.  
  
And in the meantime... He can take care of his own business.  
  
"Around this time, you usually move on, right?" he asks casually when they stop by a stall of secondhand swords and other weapons - things picked up either from the dead or those who can't pick up a sword anymore, or those who never had any desire to. There's word of other weapons being made in the bigger cities, but the research is coming along slow, apparently. For now, magic or good old chunks of sharp steel never fail to work out. "Going to stop by Raphael's farm on the way?"  
  
Investigating a secondhand bow with a frown on her face, Leonie glances back at him over her shoulder. "That's how it usually goes," she says. "But I've heard there's some good hunting to be had in other areas, and people always need mercenaries for things that churches or mayors overlook. I heard the north just finished up with some sort of religious holiday, right?"  
  
She knows because he's told her before. Claude smiles, appreciating all the openness. "That's right. I've heard that, because of all the festivities, a few people have snuck up that way and made trouble for the local towns. If you're looking for work, I don't think you'll be lacking. And it's early enough in summer that you won't have to worry about that dreadful cold!"  
  
"You know, for someone who loves seeing the world, you certainly do complain about the things that come with that sight," Leonie chuckles, putting the bow back. Her own no doubt is still doing as fine as ever. "Well, I'm glad for the recommendations. I always need more work."  
  
He knows she does. With both of them done with their browsing, they head back to the local tavern. In a place like Aile, people are constantly coming and going. This particular part of the plains may not be the most exciting or profitable place, but it _is_ the simplest and most straightforward path between the more populated towns. Simple, too, so long as one takes care to pack everything they might need for a long boring journey and makes sure not to run into bandits or other similar types.  
  
Thus, while there are a couple of different towns that have scattered into existence, Aile is the one that is smack dab in the middle and has thus made itself quite a comfortable reputation as a traveler's middle ground.  
  
Claude loves it. It's not the biggest city in the country, let alone the continent, but it gives him a taste of what he's always searching for. Well, a taste in a vague metaphorical sense.  
  
It also helps give him a taste of things in a more physical sense as him and Leonie enter the bar, and he smells warm food already cooking. With the constant trade passing through here, the food is honestly not that bad... Certainly, it's better than some of the average food in the city. Yet even as he looks around to see what table or seat might be open, he pauses. "Well, that's interesting."  
  
At his words, Leonie glances over too and makes a small hum of acknowledgment. "Oh, that group," she says, unsurprised about the small cluster of Voa sitting rather stiffly in a table near the back. No surprise - they're a bit too big for the seats that fit around here. The only one who seems most comfortable would be one with dark and ashen patterned fur, horns curving into a sharp hook back. Leonie's lack of interest tells Claude all before she continues with an explanation. "They've been here for around a week now, I think. They'll probably move on soon themselves."  
  
"I wonder if they're heading to one of the bigger cities," Claude muses, following Leonie as she spots a couple of seats available up at the bar. "Although some Voa pop up a little more north..." Just not so far north that they'd be a regular sight to certain people Claude could name. Still, those types tend to be wandering traders and merchants as well. Maybe it's the same for the three he can see chatting. Whatever their conversation, it's too far away and low for Claude to hear.  
  
Hopping up onto a bar stool, Leonie shrugs. "I haven't talked to most of the group too much... Just the one with the hook horns."  
  
That's around the time that someone comes over to see what they'd want, and they quickly put down their order. In a place like this, there's not really too much variety... Just whatever the kitchen has a lot of, or whatever they need to get _rid_ of in a hurry.  
  
Today, that happens to be a nice filling stew, and Claude doesn't complain, just picks up his spoon. "That's still a pretty big deal with how Voa keep to themselves," he says with a smile, taking in a deep breath. Ah, yes. Food that knows how to use flavor. He really did miss it. "What have you two talked about?"  
  
"Mostly he wanted to see how I hunted out in a wide open plain like this." Leonie begins to scoop up the biggest and meatiest parts of the stew first, the kind of woman who prefers to slurp the more liquid stuff down all at once. Claude can't blame her; he does the same when it gets cold up north or when he's camping on his own. "He's a little pretentious, like a lot of Voa I've run into, but he's really quick to get over himself. I was honestly pretty surprised."  
  
What a compliment to be given. Claude glances back at them, and the variety of their furs. There's the one that Leonie clearly talked to, plus the tallest of the bunch with a really striking red hue to his fur. It's kind of adorable, honestly. It reminds Claude of alleycats he's seen in larger towns, or guarding the storehouses of various places, like the one he so regularly returns to himself. Of course, he knows better than to say that out loud. Exactly like it's an insult in Voali to be called toothless, it would be an insult to them to be compared to a simple tomcat prowling around streets.  
  
Faintly, he thinks of Dimitri, and his own smooth fur. It's the kind of fur he and any other hunter watches out for when they're hunting in the mountains, fur that belongs to mountain lions as they too prowl the trees. It suits him, in some ways, like it suits the Voa whose fur has a similar shade of dirty blond.  
  
Compared to the Voa gathered over there in a group... Dimitri really has grown different in comparison, hasn't he? From what he can see of them, the one with the vibrant fur is the tallest and most broad shouldered out of all of the lot. When he observes carefully (and subtly, as not to be a complete asshole), he can tell that Dimitri's base frame is probably similar.  
  
And yet.... Even at a distance, he can tell that Dimitri is more broad shouldered than this guy, simply by virtue of being more muscular, of having more weight to him after a lifetime of having to fight for his own life. His body is more scarred up, bare to the elements and any eyes that might land upon him. And his eye...  
  
The group of Voa over there don't know that kind of life. Their bodies haven't ever experienced even a fraction of it, Claude would bet. If Dimitri hadn't been kidnapped, if he'd been allowed to live a normal life still with people who cared about him... Then he'd look like them. He'd be ducking his head, exchanging words in Voali, and able to smile in a way that Claude hasn't seen... ever since they were little kids.  
  
He returns to his stew instead of his memories, reminding himself that he's working so hard to see Dimitri live that kind of life again in the first place. For more than just Dimitri, even... Although he can't deny how much he would give away in order to get his old friend out of there, and smiling again. Stew now. Illegal prison breaks later. Well, not only stew, but...  
  
"Hey, whenever you _do_ go down to visit Raphael's place," he says to Leonie, "do you think you could see him about some metalwork? I have something I need to make an extra of, just in case it gets lost, or something. I want to see if he or some of his friends have the time to get that done."  
  
Leonie smiles at him, reassuring in a quiet and subtle way. "Of course. Maybe if I take up some jobs in the north, we might even see each other. Here's to hoping, right?"  
  
Raising up the cup of ale he was given along with his stew, Claude grins. "Here's to hoping."  
  
And they toast to it.  
  
  
  
  
  
There's an immediate flow of almost sour along his tongue, and Dimitri blinks in surprise at the cheese he has in his hands. "Ah, this.... It tastes, hm." He cocks his head to the side, curious at the latest foods that Claude has brought with him from his journeys. He was gone a good few days now... and it always seems as though he's gone longer, sometimes. The church must be putting him even harder to work... but that's completely out of Dimitri's control.  
  
All he can do is survive when he's brought out, and that's it.  
  
Well, that, and, in the current moment, eat whatever Claude has given him. That includes figuring out exactly how he wants to describe the cheese he's taken a bite of.  
  
Claude merely chuckles, amused as always to see him working on it. "Need some help finding the right words?" he asks.  
  
"I can figure it out in Voali," Dimitri says stubbornly. He can't rely on Claude all the time, even if it's only for a trivial matter such as this. Besides... He _knows_ he knows the answer. It's just... a matter of knowing what he knows. Putting the cheese onto the parchment paper he knows Claude will steal away again when he leaves, Dimitri doesn't pick up any of the nuts that Claude brought. He just stares, doing his best to dig through his mind. "A part of me wants to describe it as sour, but that does not seem to be quite right."  
  
As he's taken to doing whenever he visits, Claude murmurs a translation for him - what _sour_ is in Fodlish. "Well, what part of it doesn't seem entirely right to you?" he continues, glancing down towards the other foods he'd brought: bread that's a little hard from travel but still soft on the inside, strips of dried meat with bits of spice stuck inside of them, and some long thin little vegetables that Claude had called 'beans'. They all taste good, because of course they all taste good. Everything Claude brings does. Sometimes it's just a mystery in the _how_.  
  
Dimitri doesn't want to gobble up the cheese so soon, so he's loathe to take another bite simply to try and confirm what the taste was. If he makes an excuse for one bite, then he'll make excuses for all the others that follow, until he's eaten up the cheese completely. That means no pleasant dessert to tie up his meal. So, doing his best, he runs his tongue along his teeth, and gathers up the saliva in his mouth so that it lingers there.  
  
Nothing can recreate how it felt to have the cheese freshly bitten and gushing in his mouth. Despite that, with these lukewarm imitations, he thinks he understands what the difference is. "Instead of merely being sour, there was a kind of sweetness to it. That shouldn't be unusual in food, but it seemed to make the cheese somehow different than merely sour." It makes sense, in his head. That can't be said for what it sounds like leaving his _mouth_ , and Dimitri frowns with his ears flicking downwards.  
  
But Claude never judges. That's... the nice thing about Claude, he's come to learn. Now that he's _let_ himself learn, acknowledge, see, Claude simply listens to him and takes in what he says. "That sounds like you think it's tart, then. That's a word that's often used when something is sour, but in a kind of sweet way. Well, I say that because it's used with dessert-like things more than anything else." Another smile. "And in Fodlish, it would be..."  
  
As always, a lesson. Dimitri listens, takes it in, wonders if he can practice stringing together proper sentences soon. Right now, a lot of what he knows are simple manners, and a lot of words that don't quite make sentences. Claude has done his best to impart some advice to him on the subject, on how sentences in Fodlish _should_ sound... Still. It sounds strange when he has to string them together on his tongue.  
  
Maybe that's simply the way of all languages, and Claude doesn't seem particularly surprised when he voices this idea. "Yeah, that's how it is for a lot of people," he agrees mildly, no apple to work on for those restless hands of his tonight. "Some languages are trickier than others. Some people _adapt_ to a particular language quicker than expected. It's all a huge variable.... That is to say, there are a lot of different ways that it can go when someone learns a new language, depending on the language and person in question, who their teacher is, all sorts of things."  
  
_Variable_. Dimitri tests it on his tongue, both in Voali and Fodlish, once Claude teaches him that. "I see..." Then, perhaps he's lucky that he learns from Claude, instead of the other humans of this place. He's listened, knows a couple of the words that they use regularly especially when it comes to executions... But Claude teaches him things beyond that. Things Dimitri knows he'll never see, living out the rest of his life in this miserable cage.  
  
A part of him wants to be bitter... But, when he sees Claude sitting by him, still there, still patient, his hand in offering... Dimitri thinks perhaps he could be fine with this. That maybe... It's alright to enjoy the peak of a hill, where he can catch his breath.  
  
It won't last. He knows that. But if Claude can still exist, can still be something good in the world to counter for the wretchedness of the church and Dimitri's own terrible existence.... Then he'll accept that. It's something he's decided on, in the months that Claude has continued to steadily visit him. At least one of them has a way to run from this wretched place in the cliffs.... right?  
  
As he works through the food again, he rolls the taste of bread around in his mouth. "Where did you go this time?" he asks, tugging off another bit of bread to use alongside the jerky. Ever since he started making little sandwiches, Claude has made sure that he always has bread in his meal packets. It's... soft, to be cared for like this. The softest thing that Dimitri has access to in this bare cell, with hard ground beneath him and bars blocking him from the rest of the world.  
  
"There's a small expanse of plains south of here," Claude explains, gesturing out with one hand to show the vastness of such a place, even if Dimitri can only imagine it. If he thinks of it like the ocean from his childhood, then maybe... "It's one of the places that kind of disconnects this northern area from the rest of the country, although it's honestly not that insurmountable. Just a bit bothersome. Still, it's vital to get across if you want to make it to a lot of the other towns and cities to trade with them. While it might not be insurmountable, a couple of towns have still sprung up throughout the stretch of it. It helps smooth out the journey, you know?"  
  
Dimitri nods. He's never traveled, but he guesses it makes sense, if he thinks about it in theory. A person can only walk for so long before their body asks for sleep, or food, or other such things. Camping must be manageable for a while, but plains... There's nothing but long stretches of land, from what he understands of Claude's description. It must be difficult to manage on one's own. So, that is how towns are made.  
  
"I didn't know they grew things like this in the plains," he says, holding up a certain green vegetable inbetween his fingers. It's a little interesting, popping the beans out from their natural casing to chew on. It makes the whole process of eating feel.... more involved. Dimitri didn't think that was something possible, or that it would matter to him this much. "What other things do they grow there...?"  
  
"Things that would be harder to slide through the bars!" Claude laughs, eyes twinkling. "It's a really common farming technique out there to grow a series of plants in a very particular way: rows of corn followed by beans which grow up along their stalks, and then squash grows at the bottom to help protect against animals that would nibble at them or weeds that would infringe on the soil. Honestly, I find it pretty fascinating, even if not fascinating enough to become a farmer..."  
  
Corn grows high, beans grow along the corn, and squash at the bottom. Dimitri turns the bean shell over inbetween his fingers again, trying to imagine that sight. "...I don't think... we ever grew corn on the islands." If they did, then he can't remember it. Although maybe that isn't saying a whole lot. "I don't even know what it looks like."  
  
Promptly, Claude leans over with his finger in the dirt again. "I'm not surprised. The Devan-Voa are all islands for the most part, right? Corn wouldn't really grow there. I don't think it's really the climate for it. Besides, out in the plains, the fields of it can grow for acres... That might be a bit unmanageable on islands, although I'm not really sure of what the real answer is." Not yet, anyway. Dimitri suspects it's only a matter of time with Claude, like it always is when it comes to information he doesn't yet know. He's snapped out of his head when Claude taps the dirt. "It looks like this."  
  
Dimitri leans as close he can. Corn: something with a long shape on an even longer stalk, with little circles that look like peas in Claude's drawing that cover up the the thing from top to bottom while protective leaves hang from it. It's a strange thing to eat, although maybe he only says that because he has nothing else but Claude's drawing to go off of. "What color is it?"  
  
"It depends. I know that the church up here prefers a corn that's bright yellow above all else. Something, something, representative of the sun and the divine..." Claude waves his hand dismissively. "But down in the plains, there are entire families with farms that produce various colored corns, some focusing on one color in particular. There's a beautiful deep red corn, yellow corn with speckles in the different kernels - that's what you call the small bits of the vegetable that you eat - and then there's even a couple of families that produce a corn that practically glitters with different colors as though they were jewels. Some towns want different varieties depending on local beliefs, or certain holidays."  
  
"For someone who claims he doesn't want to be a farmer... You seem to know a lot about corn."  
  
That makes Claude laugh into his hand again, eyes shining. "What can I say? I visit that area a lot, and you just pick things up that way."  
  
Well, with Claude, Dimitri supposes that simply makes sense. No doubt he keeps his ears open for all sorts of information. Anything said near him, he likely hears. Quietly, Dimitri finishes off a simple sandwich of bread and jerky. It's soft, and the juice which flows out of the chewed up meat is flavorful. Is it greedy of him to...?  
  
Something about his expression, or the stillness of his tail, must grab Claude's attention. "Something on your mind?" he asks, head tilted to the side.  
  
There are a lot of things on his mind. There always are. Dimitri doesn't speak of them, and instead looks up at the night sky. "It's starting to get around the time that you need to leave, isn't it?" he asks. "You said that there were tasks you had to do for the morning..."  
  
Glancing down at the way shadows stretch across the courtyard, Claude nods after a moment. "I think you might be right, actually... Be sure to eat up your food quickly, alright?" He waits, just a moment, for Dimitri to gather his food up into his arms, and then takes the parchment paper they'd all been resting on. "I'll be back tomorrow, but I think they might send me running again, so take care, alright?" And there's that pause. That moment where Dimitri thinks Claude might reach out for him again.  
  
But in the end, there's only a twitch of his hand, a smile, and then Claude vanishes into the shadows again. For a moment, Dimitri watches his back, and he toys with the question that had been on his mind. He tries to distract himself. He reaches down, swipes his palm across the drawing Claude had sketched out with his fingertips. Yet that question still lingers in the back of his head:  
  
Would Claude have brought back corn if he'd asked him to?  
  
  
  
  
  
Not a lot of people really have access to Dimitri's cell, even taking into account that not a lot of people would _want_ to in the first place. The only time the fearsome Executioner is brought out is, well, executions... or to be disposed of when it's clear that the current executioner is outliving their purpose. No one is talking about disposing of Dimitri, fortunately, but, well... It's something Claude has read, when he's managed to slip into the library for information.  
  
Whatever the people of the church may believe, whatever lies the higher priests may spill from their lips, all Voa - all "demons" - are mortal creatures in the end. Death comes to claim them eventually. In the forced role of an executioner... that end comes even sooner than it might otherwise.  
  
So only a few select people possess the key to Dimitri's cell. The first would be the head of the Lore Keepers, who are somehow responsible for "finding" Executioners in the first place. The second would be one of the Cardinals, who keeps it more as a back up than anything else. And then, at last, those who handle the executioner directly when he has to be trotted out for the punishment of a criminal... Their handlers. The controllers.  
  
One of the most known would be one Narcian Sampher. Unfortunately he's not the kind of guy who's known for _good_ things. Even when Claude did his absolute best to not linger in the city for too long, it was a name he'd hear from listening in on other people while he waited to turn in his own catches or report on a task he'd completed. Now that he's been making an even bigger effort to stay in the city and make friends with people there, instead of only friendly faces, well. It's a name that's come up even _more_.  
  
So of course, when he overheard a good ol' "friend" of his complain about having to travel alongside the man on a journey elsewhere, Claude had sincerely volunteered to take her place. You know, to help her out, since she'd been _so_ stressed from recent events as it was.  
  
Narcian looks down on him almost immediately, with an expression Claude is more than familiar with: the arrogant turn up of one's nose, that critical shine to his eye, the rigid steel of his spine. That's fine. With something so familiar, it's easy for Claude to let it roll off his back, and to put on an easy smile. "Hello, Controller Narcian. I've heard great things about you. I'm truly fortunate that I was able to convince those in charge that I would be helpful on this short journey."  
  
And there it is: his shoulders ease up, appeasement radiating from that smug smirk, and he looks away. "Well, it's good that people understand what an honor it is to travel with a great man such as myself," he drawls, returning his attention back to the carts that will take them to a proper city. It's a journey that's going to take a while; Claude had made sure to tell Dimitri a lot of stories to remember in the time that he's away. "Mine is a presence that is second to none, save for the great voice of our church."  
  
"Of course. Your presence is certainly one on everyone's lips even if you do nothing but show up to lunch." Narcian hums, satisfied and allowing Claude to work on readying everything in the carts. Claude lets him bask in his own self satisfaction. If the guy isn't clever enough to realize that a presence like that isn't necessarily always a good thing, well, better to live a life of ignorant bliss, right?  
  
Relatively speaking, Narcian is an easy guy to handle. It's just that he's so insufferable a personality that most people are visibly on edge or walk on tip-toes. Give the guy someone relaxed, who responds favorably (if in short sentences sometimes - Claude can tell he hasn't noticed), and he's simple enough. In fact, he takes a liking to Claude fairly quickly, soon deferring minor things to him as they make a stop at a smaller church closer to the borders of this "land" of theirs.  
  
"You should be quite pleased, you know," Narcian says one night, after prayers have been said which he clearly doesn't truly believe in. There are a lot of guys like that in the church: believers from habit, not sincerity. A lot of moral rules get skipped over that way. "You are the perfect example of how one need only follow the instructions of the church, and even one of savage blood can become a model of purity that knows their place in the world."  
  
It's not the first time he's had his ancestry called into the light like this, as though it were something impure, sludge along the crystalline river that is his personality, said as though he should take it as a compliment. It's not the first time he's thought of the looks people have given him, people with similar dark hair and brown skin, when they see him wearing the church's white and red. After so many times of having experienced the same thing, he should be a natural at feeling nothing at all whenever the subject has come up.  
  
Funny. Despite that fact, it never seems to get easier for the churn in his stomach or in his blood.  
  
At least his acting has become all the more polished for it, and he pours out some tea for the two of them. Perhaps he should feel honored that he's been able to become one of the only people found tolerable enough to have tea with Narcian. Mostly he just feels pleased that he's managed to get this close, and he lets that be a balm for the heat in him. Hell, why not say that out loud? So he does, with a smile. "If there's anything I'm pleased about, it's that I can have tea with you, Controller Narcian. That's not something that can happen every day."  
  
And it really is good he's gotten so close. He knows for a fact that he'll be able to get into Narcian's things, one way or another, and look for a certain key he always keeps on his person. For something like that... The safest place for such important items, in the eyes of these types, is near their immediate person instead of a safe or hidden place.  
  
Fortunately, humans are not complete creatures of clockwork. Narcian might often have the key on himself, but "often" isn't "always and forever"...  
  
They stay in the city for a short while. Narcian looks over things related to the relations between both churchs, updates to holidays or recruitment or promotions - things that are generally supposed to be over Claude's head. He keeps an eye on it all regardless.  
  
In that time, it hardly takes any effort at all for Claude to find the perfect time for his little bit of theft. He breaks into the room Narcian is staying in, one night when the man is having some rather impressive bathing facilities shown off to him in a more _private_ suite than his own. It's not very hard to find the key he knows is used for Dimitri's cell; it's not particularly hidden. Who would want that sort of thing anyway, could recognize it? He tucks it away, and then goes out for a night with the others that came with Narcian.  
  
Leonie doesn't even look at any of them when they all stride into the tavern. His companions are already rowdy, and it seems like pure chance when their group gets drawn in for a round of cards at a table she happens to be at. It's a good time. Lots of alcohol gets passed around that he doesn't drink and, by the end of the night, everyone else is red-faced and singing obnoxious drinking songs.  
  
No one pays any mind to him when he laughs and clasps hands with the redhead who managed to rob the rest nearly blind. It's all just fun and games, a little bit of respect passed along, right? Absolutely no one realizes that he's slid her a key, and one she'll surely return to him soon.  
  
Predictably, the loss isn't realized until they've all returned to the city once again, almost the second the carts are pulled back to the stables. It's quite the explosion, honestly, and it's impressive to see the way Narcian turns on his otherwise loyal and hardworking subordinates. In no time at all, he finds a suitable lacky to blame for losing it in the transfer from city to city.  
  
What can Claude do? In the end, just watch as the monk is dragged away for a long punishment involving penance before statues of the saint and long hours cleaning disgusting places no one else even wants to look in the direction of. Narcian gives a dramatic sigh, as though he regrets a single thing. Claude knows he doesn't. People who throw others under the cart wheels rarely do. "What worthless help there is these days... I suppose I should be glad that the Saint blessed us with the forethought to have multiple keys of that wretched thing's cage. How else would the execution have gone on without me here?"  
  
Claude feels his heart turn to ice.  
  
  
  
  
  
After every execution, it's always the same: Bound. Water. Pull.  
  
Dimitri doesn't know how he forgot any of it. It's kind of a ridiculous thing to forget, because it's his entire reason for living.  
  
Yet still. Yet still.  
  
There's the burn of magic around his throat, his wrists, inbetween his teeth so that he cannot tear out the throats of anyone he is not _meant_ to tear into. It is like that from the start, when they first drag him out of his cell. It is like that to the end, when they're pulling him away from the mutilated and bloody _thing_ laying in the midst of the killing floor.  
  
He's much bigger than any of these humans, and yet that never seems to stop them from grabbing at his hair, kicking at his legs. Dimitri used to notice it, when he was younger. He'd cry out, fur still stained with tears, and clumsily use what Fodlish he knew in a desperate attempt to communicate. To ask what was going on, to ask for help, to ask for any kindness. They never gave him any. If anything, they were worse when he spoke their tongue. He learned to fall silent soon enough.  
  
He learned to stop caring at all about it, soon enough.  
  
Everything is a blur. The only true sensation is the copper taste vivid on his tongue, and he's tugged into his cage before he knows it. There's so much in the world, so much bearing down on him, and yet there's just that taste in his mouth. That taste, and the figures filling up his cage. Crowding him, but never quite touching.  
  
It's been a while. How long has it been? One of the figures is taller than him. His cage isn't that tall, is it? There's blood still in his mouth. They never wash the blood out there. Only his fur, his hair, his claws. Not a single figure touches him, and yet he can't breathe, can't move, can't do anything. Nothing is here. He's nothing.  
  
Why had he forgotten all of this? Stupid of him. Stupid. Foolish. He ends up on the ground, and can't remember the journey downwards. They're still as big as ever.  
  
" _Dimitri_!"  
  
His entire body jolts, and Dimitri breathes in deep - sharp - burning. He breathes, and the shock of _knowing_ he's breathing makes him jolt again. Everything still seems so dark, so crowded, but there are no figures, he realizes. Just the darkness of his cage, the same as it's ever been, looming over him. Everything is still too tight, too much, and he digs his claws into his arms.  
  
The voice again. His voice. "Dimitri." Closer now. "Can you hear me? Are you alright, Dimitri?" Dimitri looks up, and... Claude is there. And yet it seems as though he's not, as though he's somewhere completely different, somewhere Dimitri can never reach.  
  
Deep inside of his chest, his lungs strain for air, and his fingers strain for - something. What is it? What is he supposed to reach out and grab? All he can do is reach for the nearest thing, and-  
  
"Hey." He's against the bars, suddenly. When did he get so close to the bars? When did his claws tangle into Claude's shirt? Dimitri blinks, and realizes his breathing has sped up, become more shallow. Claude is still staring at him, the same way he did the night they first met when Dimitri could so easily press his claws into his throat - calm and quiet and so piercing. Dimitri gulps a breath, frantically looks around. Everything still feels too _tight_... Claude speaks up again. Claude, there in his grip, looking up at him. "Dimitri. Can you hear me?"  
  
He can hear. In the frantic buzz of his mind, he can still hear. Dimitri swallows, harsh, hard, tries to find his voice. Tries to remember what his voice is like. "...Again." Is that him? It has to be him. Dimitri struggles, pulls his body together, tries to do what he just did. He can speak. He remembers how to speak, even if it doesn't feel like him at all. "You're here again." Is that what he meant to say? It's what comes out, regardless.  
  
Claude nods. "I'm here," he says, still as quiet and calm as ever. How close are Dimitri's claws to his heart? It feels near. "Dimitri... I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I had no idea that an execution was supposed to be scheduled yesterday... Not until I arrived here tonight."  
  
...Yesterday?  
  
Realizing what he's doing, where his hands are, what's _happening_ to him, Dimitri lets go and stumbles back. It doesn't escape him that, as he does so, Claude drops slightly - had he been holding him up? What else has he been doing?  
  
Dimitri doesn't feel like himself at all. It's as though he's besides himself, watching himself, a spectator to his own movements as he stumbles back and curls up in the center of his cage. "You're real," he gasps, and it doesn't sound like him saying it. Is this what he always sounds like? Too guttural, too hoarse?  
  
"I'm real," Claude says, quiet as always, gentle. Slowly, he draws himself into a crouch on the other side of the bars. It really is the first night all over again, even the buzzing and noise in his own ears. Is it real? Dimitri doesn't think so, but, times like this, he's never sure of what's real or not.  
  
Besides Claude. Claude was real. Claude's shirt in his fingers, his claws resting against the skin over his heart. All of that. Real.  
  
Real enough to end up like the pile of blood and flesh and bone in the killing circle floor.  
  
"You should go," he rasps, bristling, "I'm - you'll get hurt. I can hurt you."  
  
Claude doesn't go. Claude goes, and also never goes. All he does right now is crouch where he is, right against the bars of his cage. "Anyone in this world can hurt me, Dimitri," he says. "But I don't think you will. I won't ask if you're okay... but are you injured?"  
  
Every person who steps into the killing floor is marked, and every mark has its types in it. They'd all wore the same brand, pitch black against their skin, and they'd been so _thin_...  
  
"They tried to run," he murmurs. "They didn't know how to wield the swords they'd been given. They..."  
  
A hand. Inbetween the bars, Claude holds out his hand to Dimitri once again, and those eyes of his are a steadfast green. Green like he can remember trees turning in the welcome spring and summer of home. "It must have been a lot," he says quietly, hand still outstretched. "But I'm here now, Dimitri. Whatever that might mean. And I know you won't hurt me."  
  
How can he know? How can he exist in his own body, in a world that does not bear down on him with shadows and noise and tension? Dimitri feels his heart clench, longing and jealous and scared all together. He shouldn't take Claude's hand. He's a monster, and it was wrong of him to forget his place. He's a monster, and all he can do to other people is hurt them.  
  
But he takes Claude's hand.  
  
Shaking, trembling, watching for the second his claws dig in, he reaches out and takes Claude's hand. He doesn't know how long he holds it, stares down at it. How can he know anything? He had thought he had just emerged from the execution, and yet.... It's hard to keep track of his own thoughts, constantly circling and twisting and repeating. When he becomes a little more aware, he's begun to lean against the cage bars. The world seems a little more clear. Claude... is still there.  
  
"I could hurt you," he says quietly.  
  
"You won't."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
And Claude looks him in the eye, steady as always, and tells him, "Because you don't want to hurt me."  
  
Things cannot be that simple. Dimitri feels _positive_ that they cannot be that simple. Yet Claude can say it so easily, as though it's an obvious fact. There are stars in the sky. His hand is warm in his. Dimitri will not hurt him.  
  
If only he could possess such calm confidence... Dimitri closes his eye, and is finally aware of his own body again. "...I'm tired," he tells Claude, not removing himself from the bars, or letting go of the fragile hand he holds in both of his.  
  
"Do you want me to go?"  
  
"No." Yet even as he says it, his stomach suddenly rumbles, and the weakness in his body finally begins to penetrate into his mind. Dimitri forgot they do this sometimes - that his captors don't seem to mind if he doesn't eat in the days immediately following a murder. He knows why. If he's not a person, not a living thing, then he can't possibly feel things like hunger, or thirst. They look at him as though he survives through the death he causes.  
  
Claude rubs his thumb along one of Dimitri's hands. "Dimitri... I should have thought to bring you food. Listen, I'll grab you some bread and stuff, alright?" He doesn't even finish his sentence before Dimitri tightens his hands on his, and Claude reaches through with his other hand to grip Dimitri's wrist. There's no intent to pull, or harm... just a light pressure. "I know. It's okay." Does he know? Is it okay? Dimitri has no idea, and can only listen as Claude continues. "I'll leave my belt with you, alright? I'll come back for it. That way you know for sure."  
  
Claude's belt isn't anything like his hand. It's too slippery compared to the sturdiness of flesh, and the texture is all wrong. Yet it's still something that belongs to Claude, a bright red that burns brightly in Dimitri's own hands. If he moves it carelessly....  
  
Dimitri's own pants, brown and gray from years of living this life, are testament to how clumsy and careless he can be. They're riddling with small pinpricks and holes that have grown from those pinpricks, and tears when he wasn't able to properly pull them on right. If he's careless here... Will someone realize what Claude has been doing?  
  
So lost in his own thoughts of disaster, he almost doesn't realize Claude's absence until there's the returning sound of his shoes in the dirt, and Dimitri jerks his head up. Claude so rarely makes a sound, sometimes. He's a hunter who's mastered what that means in every way. Dimitri doesn't need to see him hunt to know it for a fact, simply with how Claude can slip through shadows and move without a sound. So for him to make noise...  
  
"Here." He presses a loaf of bread - the kind that Dimitri has learned is from the church, the mostly good kind that's better than the stale stuff they feed him. Not fresh, not hot, but more than good enough to eat. Dimitri takes it without hesitation, takes it automatically, and allows Claude, in turn, to take back his belt that burns so bright red in the dark of night.  
  
It's one thing for Dimitri to know he's hungry, because his stomach tells him that he is. It's another thing to truly _feel_ hunger, overwhelming and seizing control of him at just one bite of bread. At the first taste of it in his mouth, something that manages to soak away some of the blood he swears he can still taste, Dimitri shoves it in without a second thought. He ceases to think at all. Before he knows it, there's only crumbs left in his hands, and a thick swallow that leaves a weight in the pit of his stomach.  
  
On a normal night, Claude would no doubt make a comment about something like that... That's not the case for tonight. Instead, he holds out something else - a fruit of some kind, one that he never learned the name of back home. A pear. Now that Dimitri has realized his own hunger, he grabs for that eagerly as well, and doesn't care how much the juice splurts out from his mouth and leaks all over his palms.  
  
"I should have brought more meat from the supplies cart," Claude reflects, not caring at all how messy Dimitri acts. "Hindsight and all that... I'll be sure to bring you more food tomorrow night as well, alright? There's no telling what these guys will do, while you're still recovering..." He lets out a breath, his own forehead coming forward to lean against the bars. "...I know there's not much I could have done on my own. Not in this kind of situation."  
  
With the fur along the lower half of his face now sopping wet with pear juice, Dimitri pauses and stares down at the fruit in his hand. No.... There's nothing Claude could have done at all, even if he had been in the city from the start. This is what Dimitri is meant for, in the end, and there is no one way a single human can stand up against all of this church, with its many corrupt devotees, and come away victorious.  
  
He tilts his hand, ever so slightly. There's not much light tonight, with the moon shifting away into its darker phases, but he manages to catch the light just enough for the juice to shine against the pear's flesh, against his own fur where it will no doubt dry sticky. "....I am glad you are here," he says quietly. "Even if I am scared. I think that makes me selfish."  
  
Between the bars, Claude reaches out again, and his hand lays gently against the wet fur still clinging to Dimitri's skin. It'll make him sticky, too. Dirty and filthy and uncomfortable. Claude doesn't seem to care. All he does is hold his hand in place.  
  
"If there's anyone who deserves to be selfish... It's you, Dimitri."  
  
  
  
  
  
His plans have to be pushed forward. They have to be. Claude doesn't feel like he can get a moments rest doing anything besides working as hard as he can. He has to force his nose to the grind stone. He has to keep working. He can't do anything else when he can still remember Dimitri's state so clearly, so sharply.  
  
Of course he's always wanted to get Dimitri out quickly. There was never any doubt, ever since he first saw him down in the execution ring with that haggard and angry look in those one blue eye.  
  
But it burns at him, the image he'd seen when he'd come back from that trip alongside Narcian. The way Dimitri had been so tense and still inside of his cell. How he'd snapped his head and looked at the slightest sound without any recognition. The sway his body when he'd approached Claude. His despair, his terror, his pain - all when he'd finally snapped out of his panicked fugue state and taken in his situation.  
  
In the nights that have followed, when Claude has met up with him again, Dimitri appears to have recovered from that first and dreadful night. Or.... Claude almost isn't even sure if he can truly call it a _recovery_. Dimitri has simply gone back to his usual moods, and brushed off all attempts at concern. In his view, there's no reason for any particular worry to be had over him, and the most recent execution. He'd told Claude as such.  
  
"It's been some time," he'd mused, when Claude had tried to breach the subject. "How my days usually go has now changed. I suppose.... I had simply forgotten how it had felt for a brief moment. Or something like that. I will adjust as the killings continue." And he had curled up, and not spoke of it anymore.  
  
No doubt some of that is true, in some way. Before they reunited, Claude understands that Dimitri's life had been a simple one with little else to it. When he was not being trotted out as an Executioner, then he was wasting his time away doing... pretty much nothing, as far as Claude knows. Sleep. Eat. Maybe cause the occasional spurt of trouble to those who worked in the church. What else _could_ he do, locked in a barren cell in the midst of a place that doesn't even see him as a person?  
  
In a time like this... It's impossible for Claude to not think what Dimitri and him had talked about only a month or two beforehand. How Claude would go, if Dimitri truly thought that his presence, his activities with him, were harming more than helping. It's something that's been weighing in the back of Claude's head every time he's visited Dimitri. Only recently has it started to ease up with Dimitri's growing interest in learning Fodlish. Yet, with something like this...  
  
Dimitri doesn't tell him to go. He falls silent, for a couple of nights, doesn't participate in the Fodlish lessons like he did before Claude left. Then he pulls himself back up onto his feet, with no real alternative available to him. He listens to Claude. Starts to talk again. Asks where Cladue went, if he did any hunting. Little bits and pieces, all pulled back together again, and soon he's back to how he was before.  
  
It's... good. Claude reminds himself that it's good. Dimitri can still pull himself together, no matter how many times he keeps being shoved through that same terrible experience over and over again. That means there's still hope that, when he finally manages to get Dimitri out of this situation, his friend will be able to _truly_ recover. In a place far away from the church, no longer being forced to kill innocent people, Dimitri will be able to recover from the multitude of scars that he's been left with.  
  
Yet it still makes him sick that those very same scars keep being torn open again and again and again. For a while, he goes out on smaller hunting jobs. Nothing fancy, just stocking the larders and pantries of the church.  
  
That way, their gluttonous and greedy priests can live comfortably. That way, those lower on the ladder (himself included, _Dimitri_ included) have enough food that isn't stolen from under their noses. It makes him feel better, to be out on his horse and with a bow in hand. If he wants to succeed in all of this... Claude can't allow himself to lose his temper.  
  
All he needs is a couple days worth of this. Of getting out some of his frustration - some of it directed at the church, but a lot more directed at his own helplessness. Yet if he wants to do a good job, wants to do a job that won't get him and Dimitri caught... Then he has to go slow.  
  
Because everything can turn out okay, can turn out for the better, so long as him and Dimitri are still alive. That's the important thing. Everything else, whether the good like a taste of nice food or the bad like these executions, is just a side diversion.  
  
Claude tells himself that. He tells himself that over and over. He tells himself that as often as he needs to hear it. Some nights, when he steps into the courtyard, and Dimitri looks particularly striking with his gold fur encased in ugly iron bars, Claude has to tell himself that a lot.  
  
But it's not the first time he's had to tell himself something until the words almost stop looking like words.  
  
" _You are tired_ ," Dimitri says one night, clumsy in the Fodlish that leaves his tongue. This is where they've managed to get, with the lessons that Claude has been able to impart upon him. Dimitri knows a lot of individual words, now, from the names of stars to the kinds of food that Claude has smuggled him. Now it's simply a matter of getting him to pull them together in sentences, and listen when they're spoken to him in turn.  
  
For the time being, he only knows very simple sentences, and this is an example of one of them. Things like _I am_. _You are_. I am yellow. You are Claude. You are quiet.  
  
You are tired.  
  
Claude smiles a little bit, wry and amused in equal measure. With how much he's been sticking around the city these days, he's not been able to get the really nice foods that he likes to pamper Dimitri with.  
  
Tonight, it's simply some good old fashioned jerky that the hunters take with them on their trips, bread baked that morning, and a simple chunk of cheese that. As usual, Dimitri takes small nibbles of the last one before placing carefully to the side. And yet, even absorbed in all of this as he is, Dimitri still has the time to look at him and take in his condition.  
  
"You know, I wasn't expecting that to be one of the first sentences you'd start using," he tells his friend, watching as Dimitri makes his way through the bread. It's a good food for him, Claude reflects. It'll help fill him up, get more flesh on his bones. Dimitri isn't skinny by any means, but Claude would rather he have a bit more fat than muscle. Who knows how things will turn out when they make a break for it. "What makes you think I'm tired?"  
  
"It hasn't been hard to miss," Dimitri starts, before he pauses at Claude's head shake and his ears flick back in annoyance. Still, he understands what's being asked of him. Dimitri tries again, forcing Fodlish to work with him. It can be tricky; there are sounds in Fodlish that aren't natural to Voali. " _You are... low. You are... not fast._ "  
  
Maybe those aren't the most accurate words, or said as eloquently as they could be... but Claude understands what he means regardless. He hums, tapping his fingers against the dirt.  
  
"There's just a lot to do," he says, not admitting to Dimitri even now that it's all for his sake. That it's all to break him free of this miserable cell, and these walls that are too high and suffocating. "In a couple of days, I'm actually going to have to leave for the first time in a bit. There's some minor trading and errands I have to do in a couple of towns in the territory, and things like that."  
  
Leonie is ready with the key he had her make a copy of. Claude already knows how he'll let the original one be found, and he's not particularly concerned if Narcian will tattle. For a person with pride like that... Failure or mistakes never reach open air of their own volition. All he has to do is make his way to the next town, fulfill what he needs to do, and....  
  
Smiling, Claude slips his hand through the bars of the cell and lets it rest there, palm up, as a simple offering. Sometimes Dimitri touches it. Sometimes not. "But it'll only take a short while. And when I come back... I'll have better food for you."  
  
And one more vital step in hand for freeing Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the chapters I did completely wholecloth, with no direct input from the original roleplay at all. In the RP, you see, we went through things kind of quickly, because we wanted to rp out This or That specifically. When translating this into a fic, I thought it would be good to help the passage of time be felt a little more. So, much like how I did in V3, I made this chapter (plus another one) just a series of snippets from the days passing. 
> 
> I wanted to contrast Dimitri and Claude's lives together, with Dimitri having a steady flow and Claude making progress with constant changes. Dimitri is having his own progress too, of course, but it's very easy to see it as just the same thing every night. 
> 
> ha ha, I'm not sure if that makes sense. I hope so! I mostly hope you all enjoy this fic. If you don't, that's fine, I'll enjoy it plenty enough for all of us. :v
> 
> As a note, the Voali language is something that Toasty and many fans made for the EFD series. There's an entire gdoc that's just FULL of worldbuilding, and a non-insubstantial part of that gdoc is taken up by just, a whole dictionary, and grammar lessons, on this fictional language that was made up mostly by Toasty but also with some group input from others. It's a really impressive work, and I do heavily encourage you to go look it up for yourself. 
> 
> Both during the original roleplay, and while composing this fic, I referenced that gdoc a *lot*, ha ha. If you are also a huge nerd, it's a fun time. 
> 
> Lyrics responsible for this chapter's title: 
> 
> "Time capsule for the future  
> Trust me, that's what I will be  
> Oh, the things that you do in the  
> Name of what you love"


	6. Redefine a Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Claude meant to do was show off his archery skills for Dimitri. Instead, he chases off a controller, makes a friend, and awakens something inside of Dimitri.

If there's one thing that Claude can say has progressed really well, it's Dimitri's efforts in (re)learning Fodlish. That, in turn, seems to help stabilize him.  
  
Claude hadn't thought there was a connection, at first, but now it really can't be denied. It seems that the more he gives Dimitri, the calmer he becomes in the times that Claude is away. It's a far step from the frantic pacing Dimitri had done the first time Claude had gone off on a small task for the church, tense and thinking that Claude's return might only be another hallucination.  
  
Claude's theory is - well, frankly, he's almost not sure if he can call it a theory. It almost seems more like simple base _fact_. What else is there for Dimitri to focus on in this place, besides Claude's visits, and anything he can leave behind? And if it helps, well... Claude is glad to keep pushing for it, and would be even without his plans being a factor.  
  
So that's good. However, there is _one_ thing that's stayed stagnant, and Claude would have to say it's Dimitri's perception of him.  
  
Sure - he'll admit that he'd never be able to take on Dimitri if his old friend decided to grab at him through the bars. With those fangs, and sharp claws, and not even talking about the amount of _strength_ that Dimitri has in him... Claude is well aware that, the second a person is grabbed by him, it's over. That's why so many people in the execution ring end up dying.  
  
The best way to fight against Dimitri is to never fight him at all, and it would take a skilled fighter to put him down in a close combat battle. While Dimitri may not have formal training... He has years of experience from having to fight for his life like this. Combined with strength and speed, that's nothing to sneeze at.  
  
Yet that doesn't mean Claude is _weak_ , or in constant danger just because he makes calculated moves on being near to Dimitri. Trying to tell Dimitri that with words doesn't seem to be working, however. That's understandable, even if that doesn't make it any less frustrating.  
  
So if words don't work...  
  
Claude flexes his fingers as he makes his way through the halls of the church, feeling his muscles shift and ease up. Dimitri has never seen him with a bow before. He's never seen just how skilled he can be. This will be a good chance to show him, he thinks. The courtyard _is_ meant for practice, after all. It would be a waste not to use it... and use it to his advantage, nonetheless. Maybe that will help Dimitri calm down a little, since words aren't helping him too much.  
  
And... maybe he wants to show off a little. It's honestly kind of funny, Claude muses as he passes by a small troupe of children lead by an elder monk. In his whole life, he's always taken great care in how he shows off to other people.  
  
A lot of it is necessary if he wants to be put in a position where he's too useful to treat _too_ carelessly, but also, if he revealed just how good he is at everything else, well... It would draw attention to himself that he doesn't need just yet. But for Dimitri... For him, he really wants to show just how good he is. He wants to see Dimitri's eye widen, impressed, and maybe if he heard a compliment or something...  
  
Maybe it won't happen. Maybe it will. Claude can't help being excited either way, a light bounce to his step as, for the first time, he steps into the sunny grounds of the courtyard with only a casual glance to Dimitri-  
  
And then his gaze snaps back, landing on a light mark along the Voa's cheek.  
  
All of his plans undergo an immediate and radical reconstruction as he slows his steps, and Claude takes in the rest of the scene that he's walked in on.  
  
Including Dimitri, there are four people in the courtyard: Dimitri, a healer with a scowl upon her delicate face, a younger kid who looks like they're going to shake out of their skin, and.... Ah. Controller Erik. He suddenly has a whole lot of idea of just what might have happened here. Even as he continues his light step towards the group, Claude risks another quick glance in Dimitri's direction to ascertain his state.  
  
The light scrape along his cheek doesn't seem to impede Dimitri's mouth as it curves into a sharp and jagged little grin of satisfaction. A similar mark appears to go all around his forearm a couple of times. Where Dimitri sits cross-legged, just at the front of his cell, a tray of food lays in front of him. No doubt it hasn't been touched since then; Claude can't see a single nibble on the stale old bread there.  
  
Instead of bread or sloppy stew, Dimitri seems to be eating up the condition of the controller who is snapping at the healer: a little bit dirty, a little bit scruffed up, with a bruise clearly blossoming on his forehead and a short tear in the front of his shirt. A series of small tears, actually, too shallow and short to have been done by Dimitri's hands. There might be blood right there underneath it all, although Claude can't be for certain this far away. Regardless... He's not crying about it.  
  
Erik always was the kind of coward who bent over backwards for Narcian, and the kind of guy who takes it out on whoever he thinks he can screw over - the marks on Dimitri's body as he sits mostly powerless behind metal bars, the way the kid with brown hair shakes like a leaf.  
  
The only person who doesn't seem to be holding up for any of his nonsense would be the healer, a long golden ponytail flicking behind her head as she shakes it roughly. Claude makes it in on the tail end of her telling Erik off all the way down to the brain in his head being more like potatoes left in a pantry for five years. Which, creative, he'll give her that. And she's still doing her job, too! Healers really are people who deserve all the respect that can be given.  
  
Claude acts as though he hasn't heard a single bit of it, approaching with a cheery wave and a smile. "Hey Erik!" he says, as if they're running into each other at the mess hall instead of Erik being taken care of by a healer who's doing her level best to preserve the man's good looks. A bit of a lost cause, in Claude's opinion. "Looks like you've got yourself an intern! Teaching her how valuable our healers are?"  
  
It must be a cold smile that's on his face, Claude knows that for a fact. So many of his smiles don't have any genuine feeling to them, and he's in a bad mood; it must be worse than normal. Still, he tries to soften the smile when he looks to the kid - a girl, maybe? Short brown hair cut into a bob about her ears. She blinks, surprised at the attention - or maybe just taking a moment to adjust to his sudden presence in the conversation, like the other two are.  
  
That pause only lasts a second, and the first one to break it is the healer, who crosses her arms with a huff. Apparently, Erik isn't so terribly injured that she can't take a break from making sure he isn't completely mauled. "A _proper_ lesson in gratitude would involve giving me gifts, like honeycomb, or a beautifully spun blanket for the coming fall!"  
  
Erik looks as though he _desperately_ wants to plug his ears. Instead, he snorts, and the action sends a small splatting of blood to the ground which makes him wince. So a bloody nose to match that bruise on his forehead, got it. "Keep your tongue to yourself if you're going to be like that," he grumbles at the healer. "At _any_ rate, there's plans to have this one, Dorothy, help with future executions once she's old enough. I thought it was best to get her firsthand experience with just what a monster she'll be dealing with."  
  
So, in other words, he wanted to scare some poor kid, and harass Dimitri.  
  
Claude looks over at Dimitri in feigned surprise, even as he takes in that his friend is watching all of this closely - maybe now that Claude is involved. It's nice to think that, anyway. Hopefully his friend can see the hint of humor in his eyes, and the invitation to enjoy the show that this is going to end up as. "You're telling me the demon did all of that to an experienced controller like you while he was still locked up? How did that happen?"  
  
There's no direct insult to Claude's words, or in his shock... but there's absolutely _something_ about his words, the way he purposefully empathizes certain things to lay out how obviously _incredible_ the situation is... It almost gives it the flavor of insult all the same.  
  
A lot of people would overlook it. Erik isn't one of those kinds of people, on the look out for insults even when there aren't any. His eyes narrow, lip curling along with the motion, and Claude can recognize the tone in his voice as he starts to speak. "Listen here, you-"  
  
But hell hath no fury like a healer scorned, and she whirls in on Erik in a heartbeat. People in the farms outside of town can probably hear her voice. "Oh, no, go on!" Her shoulders square, not intending to be pushed back a single inch. "Explain! _I_ could certainly tell the tale, but I wouldn't mind hearing properly the whole thing! Or maybe-" And she turns on the poor kid standing to the side. "You should tell it! You were there as well, weren't you? And I'm sure it must have been a lot more frightening for you, since you were dragged into it whether you liked it or not! And then _maybe_ this arrogant and cocky fool will stay still while I heal him!"  
  
And this is exactly why Claude has very rarely ever antagonized a healer in the long time that he's had to live with the church.  
  
Their younger companion freezes up, shoulders hunched and gaze flicking constantly from person to person. When it's clear that there's no way out, she takes in a careful and deep breath to steady her nerves. "We... came to feed it. The demon, I mean. But it kept ignoring us, even when Controller Erik called at it. So Controller Erik said that... it needed to be reminded that it should respect us. Or else it would get out of control."  
  
She pauses, taking a quick glance around the group as if looking for a way out, or an excuse to pass the explanation to someone else. No respite can be found from either Erik or the healer, while Claude continues to look thoughtful. When freedom is nowhere to be found, she keeps going. "So he used a whip - to get its attention. But before the whip could snap back, it-" And she pauses again, blinking at Claude as though realizing something belatedly. He smiles, encouragingly, she she gets back on track. "It grabbed the whip... and pulled it. Hard. Then, when Controller Erik slammed into the cage bars, the demon kicked out from between the bars."  
  
Right as she falls silent, there's a deep and sharp sound that makes her jump, and twists the scowl on Erik's face even tighter. No doubt, unfamiliar with Voa as they all are, the noises Dimitri is making are intimidating things. Claude? He has to bite back his own laughter before it can join with Dimitri's.  
  
Gods and stars and even some of the saints, if they really are listening, but it's been so long since he's been able to hear Dimitri's laughter. The first he's ever heard him laugh as an adult. His heart clenches that Dimitri still can at all.  
  
Instead of giving into such impulses, Claude brightens as though he's discovered the solution to some riddle. "Oh, of course! I confess, Erik, you had me worried for a sec there. I mean, what with all the rumors and your track record of getting attacked by the demon more than pretty much anyone else, I was honestly a little concerned to see you training a kid... but it all makes sense now! It took me a minute to see what you were doing." He gives Erik the most inconspicuous wink in all of existence. "Very clever, though! I'm genuinely impressed!"  
  
While Erik looks like he might choke on his own seething anger, Claude looks back to the kid. "If even someone like me can miss it, I think it's only fair to let you in on the training technique your mentor was using! See, he was actually showing you what _not_ to do, and the consequences of being careless." Claude holds up an instructing finger, politely ignoring the way the healer is radiating smugness. "You see, like any experienced hunter such as myself knows, respect is indeed very important.  
  
"But it's not about getting respect yourself; it's about showing respect to other things. Even the most peaceful creatures can be dangerous if they're approached with ignorance or arrogance, you know - or if you hurt or upset them. Hunters have been run down and gored by deer, after all, and deer are hardly what you'd call aggressive. So only a really foolish hunter, one who won't last long at his job, would needlessly provoke a deer, or approach one without proper understanding and respect for what one can do!"  
  
There's a light wheeze to the side, the healer trying not to be too obvious and failing at inhaling the laugh she wants to make. Clapping a friendly hand down on the kid's shoulder, Claude smiles. "We should've realized it right away, you know! Imagine demanding respect from a demon that doesn't even understand our language - how would he ever be able to comply? Should've been a dead giveaway that Erik was having you on." Claude winks down at the poor apprentice suckered into this job,  
  
"It just goes to show you how experienced Erik is that he could do everything wrong on purpose and get away with such light wounds! Let that be a lesson to you; imagine how badly the demon could mess up someone who wasn't as much of an expert as your mentor if they tried that sort of thing! It was probably kind of a scary lesson to learn that way, but that just means it'll stick in your head forever. Always approach your demon cautiously, don't provoke him if you don't need to, and never forget how dangerous he can be to you if you don't respect what he's capable of."  
  
Off to the side, while he's understood maybe a quarter of everything that's been said, Dimitri couldn't look more smug at how the events have unfolded. The only other person who can match him is the healer, her arms crossed and confidently leaning back. The kid is just flickering her glance to all of them, and Erik.... His posture has become worse and worse with every word that's been said, the scowl on his face quite an ugly little thing, and yet he can't say a single word.  
  
Even when Claude's own devilish gaze lands onto him, along with his final words. "You must train a lot of apprentices this way, huh?"  
  
They both know that Claude has left him with only two choices here, with the narrative he's set up, and neither are really _great_ for Erik's position... but going with the other would make him look even worse.  
  
So the controller stands up abruptly, scoffing with his fists clenched at his sides. "Just learn well so that you don't get eaten up by that wretched thing," he snaps at the kid, once again indulging in more fear than actual help or education as his teaching method. "I'm off to change my clothing, so you just wait here until that demon finishes its food." With that, he whirls around and takes off before he can be humiliated any further. From behind his bars, Dimitri bares his fangs at Erik's retreating back.  
  
Now that the controller is gone, the healer heaves out an even bigger sigh than anything she used while he was around.... And she didn't exactly hold herself back then, either. "If the saints could save us from the machismo of people like that!" she announces firmly. "It would be so much less work for me. Hey, you - Miss Apprentice. What's your name?"  
  
The kid stiffens a bit, her hands held behind her back. "Oh - I'm Dorothy. Ma'm."  
  
"Don't call me _Ma'm_ ," the healer whines. "I'm not nearly old enough to be thought of as an elder healer! _Anyway_... That ridiculous lout is likely just going to leave you here on your own for hours and not come back, so feel free to leave once the demon has finished eating, alright?" She looks over at Dimitri with a wrinkled nose. "Now I just have to deal with _that_..."  
  
Her attention isn't returned. Now that the biggest tool in the box has left the courtyard, Dimitri's gone back to ignoring them all. Instead, he's more preoccupied with keeping his stale bread submerged in the stew.  
  
Claude understands what she means, although she doesn't say it outright. Even from a distance, the scrape on his face and the mark around his arm where Erik's whip wrapped are still plainly visible. While the church may treat its "executioner" as something less than human, it can't be denied that Dimitri is _integral_ to their practice. Without him to do their dirty jobs, they're left having to take care of "sinners" and "criminals" via the long term.  
  
Sure, Claude has no doubt that they're scum enough to leave those poor souls in such miserable conditions that they would eventually perish from "natural" causes regardless... But why take the long route when they can go so much quicker with an executioner?  
  
It's a big investment, and Dimitri can't be allowed to go into an execution at anything but his best. The "trial" he poses means little, if he's less. Well, that might be why people in the church care about keeping Dimitri in good health.... But Claude has other priorities.  
  
"Would you like me to ask him to behave for you?" he asks, stepping away from the kid - Dorothy. When the healer quirks an eyebrow at him, Claude only grins in an almost apologetic way and shrugs his shoulders. "I've picked up a bit of demon language in my travels through less enlightened lands. I could probably get him to understand you're just trying to heal him, at least; I don't know why he'd get aggressive over something like that." He shifts his smile, makes it a little more charming for the healer. "And you look like you could use one less thing to worry about today."  
  
Bingo. That last sentence is definitely enough to win her over, even if she pauses for a moment while twirling her ponytail inbetween her fingers. "You know, you really shouldn't go boasting about that kind of thing," she says, as though she isn't particularly pleased by Claude taking her into consideration. "The priests might hear and get all worked up." Obviously that doesn't count _her_ , and she glances over to the cell again where Dimitri waits. "Still, I wouldn't mind seeing what you can do. That's a volatile one - word is that it's the most violent Executioner we've had in a while, although I wasn't even familiar with the previous one, so I can't say for certain. Besides, it ignores most people on the better days... As long as you don't harass it, of course."  
  
Claude chuckles. "Of course. Even mild stags can gore a person. Although he might be in some kind of mood after _intentional_ mishandling like that," he says, with the barest touch of ironic inflection on the word _intentional_. "So some precautions can't hurt. Precautions are really just a form of respect anyway." He grins at Dorothy. "Anyway, let's see what I can remember of their lingo..." And with that, he saunters in the direction of Dimitri's cell.  
  
Wisely, Erik had retreated a good distance away - completely on the opposite end of the courtyard from Dimitri's cell, near the water pumps and some benches for those who want to take a break in the midst of their training. As Claude walks along, he looks over the ground. Not even a trace of blood splatter... Dimitri really was holding himself back in this case. Whatever Erik had to deal with, it clearly wasn't serious. Maybe he'd even made up more of a fuss in case the "demon" "infected" him with something.  
  
Well, at least that puts Claude's heart at ease a little bit... It means that this will just be a minor incident that no one will bat an eye at, since everyone really _should_ know how dangerous Dimitri can be at this point. And Erik was the one that Narcian threw under the cart wheels as well... That means chances are even better no one will pay him any mind. Claude can't feel too bad about it; Erik brought this onto himself and he's not even dead. Things are fine.  
  
Stopping in front of Dimitri's cell, Claude draws down into a crouch. His friend is still holding the bread into the stew; does it really take that long for it to soften? Claude supposes he should be glad that it's not moldy or rotten. Another benefit for Dimitri, he supposes - the food may be far from the best in the world, but it will always be something Dimitri can eat without becoming ill.  
  
" _Hey_ ," he greets casually in Voali, keeping his voice low and hard to hear so that it's not too audibly evident how fluent he is. Dimitri's cage is far enough away that a low-pitched voice isn't going to carry too well. As he speaks, Dimitri actually looks up at him with a surprised blink. Claude can understand why; they've never conversed like this in the light of day. " _That bastard looked like he ended up a lot worse than you are, but you should still get healed up. I'd hate for him to have the satisfaction of scarring you._ "  
  
" _His pride seems scarred more_ ," Dimitri says, with no small amount of self satisfaction.  
  
Claude has to bite back a grin of his own, well aware that he's still being watched carefully by the healer and Dorothy. " _Maybe so_ ," he agrees. " _Still, mind behaving for the healer? We're all united in our opinion that Erik is a pompous, incompetent jackass, and anyone who has to deal with that guy regularly deserves to have things made a little easier._ " Finally taking a risk, he offers a flicker of a smile to Dimitri. Just a flicker, gone within a flash; he doesn't want his friendliness to be too visible. " _Not that I really think you needed to be asked that much, but it was a good excuse to come say hi._ "  
  
" _Just an excuse, is that so...?_ "  
  
He winks. " _Well, I was hoping you enjoyed the show; that guy is going to be fuming for weeks._ " All that pent up anger, and nowhere to direct it. How _sad_. Claude would like to think that it would encourage him to find a better way to relieve stress, but he doubts it would happen. For now, all that he's managed to accomplish is chasing him away for a short while. " _But come on, how do you feel?_ "  
  
At least Dimitri won't be bothered by one of the guys who apparently harasses him the most out of whole controller group... not that he seems bothered _now_ as he finally removes his bread from the stew.  
  
" _Oh, so it's simply about this_ ," he says, looking down at his arm. Even with pale fur like his, the bright burn of magic stands out, and moreso where it fades to black along his forearm and wrist. While he absolutely loathes him for the way that he treated Dimitri... Claude has to admit Erik at least had the sense to go after the arm that didn't have Dimitri's tattoo brand on it. " _Mm... I don't care about those types of people._ " The slightest incline of his head towards the healer. " _So.... fine._ "  
  
No strong feelings towards healers, huh.... Claude stands up, dusting off his knees. That makes sense. Out of the types of people in the church, Dimitri's experiences with them have probably been some of the most positive that he could possibly have at all here. Second best are probably kids like Dorothy who are just here to give him food. All the healers want to do is likely fix him up when he gets injured from executions, and then leave him be with their job done.  
  
" _It probably wouldn't hurt to come closer to the bars to make her job easier,_ " Claude says, and smiles. It's probably safe enough to do so- he _is_ supposed to be "playing diplomacy with the demon", and whatnot. " _I'll see you tonight, okay? But for now I need to get archery practice in, and I don't want to raise suspicions by paying you too much attention while people are watching._ "  
  
The blonde healer and Dorothy both seem like perfectly nice people on their own... But even perfectly nice people talk, and these are people connected to the church, whether they like it or not.  
  
Dimitri scoffs underneath his breath, but doesn't say too much as he tears into his bread some more. " _They should come in here if they care so much_ ," he mutters. Still, he seems to oblige well enough, shifting a little closer to the bars.  
  
While Dimitri makes himself comfortable, Claude steps away from the cell. "I think I managed it!" he calls over to the healer, waving at her and Dorothy. "He seems like he understood, anyway, so I guess I must have used the right words. Should be fine now."  
  
That's an easy thing to say for him, both in how he actually knows Dimitri and the fluency with which he can speak Voali. The healer doesn't seem quite so confident, glancing over at Dimitri with narrowed and wary eyes. Still, he really is on his best behavior... or at least some solidly neutral behavior that doesn't threaten anyone, with how he keeps his injured arm in front of him while picking up the stew with his free hand.  
  
It's good enough either way. The healer finally steps forward with the knowledge that, if nothing else, Dimitri has placed eating food on a higher priority than harassing her. There's no need to worry about those claws of his, claws that Claude now knows quite well from when they'd once wrapped around his own throat with the tips lightly pressing against his skin. No, no need at all. Dimitri even raises up his injured arm, otherwise not even looking at her while he eats.  
  
Taking in a steady breath, the healer holds out her hands. Claude watches as the tattoo on her chest - right above her breasts, curving in some aspects over her collarbone - lights up in the manner of a shooting star. It's a tattoo he also has across his own chest, in much the same way, although he rarely has cause to use it. Healers generally tend to other people, after all... And working with others is something he's done his best to avoid, out of a sense of his own safety and sometimes their own.  
  
But he can't deny it's a beautiful sight.Light spreads along the marking on her chest, down to those inked all along her outstretched arms that she holds out towards Dimitri. The light burns and flickers across the markings on Dimitri's arm, his face, and it blows away like sand on the wind while leaving behind only a little bit of shorn fur in its wake. Only that, and nothing more. No scarring, no blood. Once Dimitri's fur grows back, it'll be like nothing ever happened, except a ripple of light once upon a time.  
  
Dimitri's arm falls to rest along one knee again, and the healer steps back with a relieved exhale. "For once, I don't have to deal with any of its snarling and nastiness!" she says cheerfully, put into quite a good mood from how much more smoothly this has gone in comparison to dealing with Erik. "There wasn't even any of its usual incoherency. Maybe I should ask you to join the healers. It could be so much easier to deal with him during executions then!"  
  
"I'll keep your generous offer in mind," Claude says, still smiling and with no intention to look into it at all. In a couple of months, if even that, he won't even be in the city anymore... Not for a while. All he needs to do is a little more work, a little more investigation into certain people... "Anyway, I imagine you must have had a lot more important things to do than fuss over Erik, right?"  
  
The healer sighs, one hand held delicately to her face as though she is but a precious flower who has expended all her energy. It reminds Claude just a little bit of a dear friend, although Hilda doesn't have _quite_ so feisty a temper. "I do... I suppose I can't really take a break for too long." She looks over him, lips pursed. "I'm Clarine. Let me know if that ridiculous man throws a fit again, won't you? And that goes for you too, Dorothy."  
  
Dorothy jerks her head in a nod, and that's apparently enough for Healer Clarine. With a tired wave that no doubt gives away just how much work healers have to do in this church, Clarine finally takes her leave. With her absence, the only people in the courtyard now are Claude, Dorothy, and Dimitri, who's firmly ignoring all of them as he picks through his food.  
  
Claude glances at the kid with some genuine curiosity; what's her takeaway of everything she's seen and heard today? Of course, the second the thought forms itself in his mind, Claude has to follow through with it. "So what do you think of all of this?" he asks. "I'm just a hunter, and an outsider at that. I'm in no position to judge you if there's anything you want to say. Or ask."   
  
Off to the side, within his cage, Dimitri makes a light snort. Claude _thinks_ he can make out the faint mutter of words - " _And there it begins._ " Good to know that his friend understands enough Fodlish to get a hang of that, at least. Still, it's not _just_ because he's nosy. For example, while he took a great deal of pleasure in it, his actions before weren't _just_ to humiliate Erik. it's just like that.  
  
Dorothy is only a kid, in the end, although she'll become an adult one day... And that means she's a part of the future of this church. If what just happened can be a firm idea planted in the head of someone who might become a future controller, whatever that may mean in the future after he gets Dimitri out of here... Maybe, at the very least, he can seed the idea to not mistreat Voa. It's not much, and it probably won't have any lasting effect - not one incident in a lifetime of indoctrination.  
  
But.... He needs this. He needs to keep doing things like this, and to think that one day it might have an effect on people for the better. Only a little while ago did he tell Dimitri the exact same thing: He needs dreams of tomorrow being better than today, and today being better than yesterday, in order to keep breathing in this harsh world.  
  
Having apparently settled herself off to the side while waiting for Dimitri, Dorothy jolts. "Oh- you're talking to- okay," she says, words stumbling out of her mouth awkwardly. She glances around, as though checking that it's really her being spoken to - or maybe just to confirm that it's only the two of them alone in this conversation for now. Frankly, Dorothy seems like the nervous and awkward type to begin with, so it could honestly be anything. Claude has a suspicion it's exactly why Erik felt so confident in harassing her out of anyone who could have been made an apprentice.  
  
When the silence stretches out too long, Claude begins to stretch out his arms - you know, give her a little space while he does his own thing so that she doesn't feel pressured into the conversation. So, of course, that's when she decides to speak up suddenly. "You - kept calling the demon a 'him'." When Claude's only reaction is to simply blink, she hesitates a moment before forging onwards. "I was wondering... How can you tell?"  
  
Right... While some Voa prefer being referred to with that kind of pronoun, Claude knows that's not the intent with which members of the church use it. This is probably the first time she's ever heard someone refer to Dimitri as just a person instead of a thing, like one might call a dog, at best, or a tool, at worst.  
  
At least it's a pretty easy answer to give. Claude chuckles. "Well, male Voa - that's what they call themselves, Voa. They tend to have horns. The females often don't. I'd like to say that the males have a little more muscle mass as well, but it honestly tends to vary by individual. Of course, there are also females with horns, just like there are males without." And then, a little white lie - "I'm honestly taking a shot in the dark based on percentages. It might just be my personal feelings on the matter, but I feel kind of strange calling anything that can understand me an 'it'. That's a bit of a controversial opinion here, however."  
  
Controversial enough that he'd probably get in at least a little trouble formally and, more frustrating to him, be seen as even more of an outsider... After all the work he's done to integrate himself with other people here, that would set him back in a truly aggravating way.  
  
Dorothy seems like someone fine to talk to about this, fortunately, and she's still staring at him, listening intently. Claude continues. "Of course, if you speak a little Voali, you could always ask them if you're not sure," he says, putting a hand on his hip and looking over to Dimitri. His friend definitely doesn't seem to care about the conversation that's happening, despite his commentary from earlier, and is instead working on his stew. "That's also something the church frowns on, but, from where I'm standing, isn't it a useful skill to have? It makes your job easier. That's one of the reasons I learned it."  
  
Still tentative, but with an undeniable curiosity about her, Dorothy looks over to Dimitri's cell. "Making the job easier... He did really calm down," she mutters, more to herself than in expectation for Claude to respond.  
  
So it's taking root. Claude keeps his smile on his face. "Mind you, I'm not encouraging you to break the rules or anything..." There, his safety. Although he supposes he takes that away again with his next words - "You should never do anything because someone tells you to, Dorothy. It's important to make your own choices."  
  
Well, while he might be saying all of this, it's a lot to ask of a kid who's been raised by this church. He understands that, and why her shoulders hunch up a little bit. "Controller Erik and the others-"  
  
Another sharp and sharp bark of laughter from Dimitri. Dorothy grimaces and jolts.  
  
When it's clear that Dimitri has no further... _contributions_ to this particular discussion, Dorothy continues on with one last awkward glance at him. "They say that demons are just soulless monsters, and so it... doesn't matter."  
  
Yeah, he bets they did. "You shouldn't believe something just because someone tells you to, either." Claude smiles down at her, wondering how much of this will stick, for how long. It'd be nice if even for only a little while. "If that's what you come to believe on your own, through your own experience and observations, then that's one thing.  
  
"But if you're just believing someone else... How do you know for sure if they're right or not, if you never look yourself? And if they are right in what they told you, then there's no reason confirming it should hurt. Questions should never be dangerous, because knowing what's true shouldn't be dangerous."  
  
Frankly, when he'd made that joke weeks ago about how he was thinking of becoming a teacher... Well, maybe it has some basis in fact, he has to admit as he watches Dorothy turn the advice over in her head. It feels like he's always doing this, finding little cracks to try and plant the seeds for a better tomorrow. It's not glorious or fast work, but, well... It's all he can do, as an individual working on his own for the time being.  
  
Dorothy looks up again, having thought things through enough apparently. "When I've asked questions before..." She pauses, uncertain, and Claude can't blame her. All he can do is wait patiently and keep smiling, until she feels a little more confident in order to keep going. "The priests don't always like it..."  
  
"Of course... It's definitely another opinion the church finds controversial," Claude sighs, running his hand through his hair. "So don't feel like you _need_ to follow my advice. Not unless the answers you want feel important enough to be worth getting in trouble for." Another smile, this one a little more lazy. "Anyway, don't mind me too much. Just some foreigner ramblings, as I'm sure more than a few people will tell you here, including Controller Erik." He may have been able to make a lot of friends here, and has left a good impression on others... But some impressions or ideas don't wash away that easily.  
  
Before Dorothy can do much more than nod, a loud clatter breaks through their conversation, and Claude looks over towards the sound. It's just Dimitri, dropping his now empty bowl to its tray. That's cue enough for Dorothy. She hastily grabs a long pole with a small hook on the end of it, and trots over. Faintly, as he watches her trot over to Dimitri's cell, he wonders how many times that pole has been yanked away from controllers that Dimitri doesn't like, or when he's been in a mood....  
  
That's not something either Claude or Dorothy has to worry about today, apparently. For all that he's mildly fucked up one controller today, Dimitri seems to recognize that Dorothy isn't anyone worth bothering. Instead, he sprawls out in what sun filters through the cell bars. It's not a position of complete relaxation - Claude still see how he's keeping his good eye facing outwards to no doubt keep an eye on Dorothy as she hooks the tray. But... it's good enough.  
  
Poor kid had to be expecting the worst from him, because she sends Dimitri a puzzled glance. But then, as she's leaving with pole and tray in hand, she sends a very similar glance at Claude before disappearing into the hallway.  
  
It's hard not to be amused watching Dorothy run off, and Claude is sure that it must show on his face. At the same time... A little bit of regret pings inside of his chest.  
  
Is this all he can do for a girl like that? Someone who seems perfectly nice, and is trying her best? Is that all he can do for Dimitri right now, making one of his caretakers be at least not so antagonistic even if the best case scenario is likely just wariness and apathy instead? There's... honestly a lot to regret, and a lot to worry about. Just thinking about it... completely exhausts him.  
  
Claude shakes his head, and in turn shakes off the mood he was starting to fall into. He didn't come here to feel miserable for himself or Dimitri or their situations. Shooting Dimitri a quick smile, Claude turns instead to the targets arranged before him. Taking a deep breath, he presses his palms together - both at right angles, as though in prayer.  
  
Feeling the way magic surges through him, through the tattoos inked onto his arms, is always going to be such an experience. Claude can't help marvel at it every time, and how differently it feels to summon his bow in comparison to the rare times he's ever healed someone. Maybe it's because he's done it so little, but healing always makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, an electrical current rattling through his body. It's the effect of something meant to fundamentally change the body, even if it's for the better.  
  
Weapons are easier, the bright red light which blossoms from his tattoos and materializes into something solid as he pulls his palms apart. It's simple and clean, like a rush of wind going down and through his limbs without moving even a single hair... and then taking form into the shape of a brilliant bow of red light, thrumming and warm in his hand. There's even the string... and the arrows are soon to come, once he gets back into practice.  
  
Claude idly tests it for a few moments, pulling the string back partway so that he can satisfy himself with the draw. There's no need to worry, as always... but it never hurts to check. It can still manifest perfectly in his hands, with no imperfections. Both his tattoos and his own skill in using magic are perfectly fine still. Satisfied with the result, he nods to himself, and turns towards the practice targets that wait for him in the courtyard.  
  
It's a set up perfectly perpendicular to Dimitri's own cell; he'll get a perfect view of just what Claude can do.  
  
  
  
  
  
With that nuisance out of the courtyard, along with the child, everything falls silent once again for Dimitri, and he takes what little pleasure he can in the moment.  
  
It's times like these that he can appreciate silence, instead of being tormented by it. Things could be much worse. The injuries he'd taken from that magic hadn't really meant much, he knows, and he'd taken a lot more satisfaction in seeing the way that human's face had contorted in pain when Dimitri had slammed him against the bars... But still. Dimitri knows it could be like that every day, and that it could be far more intense. In comparison to all of that... the silence is a blessing.  
  
Well, it's not a perfect silence. As he lays there, taking in the warmth of the sun while his stomach lays mostly full, Claude is still there before him. It's strange, to see Claude in full daylight.  
  
It... suits him, Dimitri thinks, and finds himself surprised at the revelation for some reason. All this time, they've only been able to talk in the dead of night. That is when no one else has ever been awake, and could not stumble onto someone breaking the rule of speaking with a 'demon'. Thus, there's never been any need before for Claude to step into the courtyard during the daytime. In fact, as far as Dimitri can tell, it's usually been for the better if he doesn't.  
  
And for the first time... Dimitri stares at him, and finds that almost regretful. He'd noticed it the very second Claude had stepped into the courtyard, with the sun warming up that brown skin of his and making his hair seem even blacker than usual in comparison to everything around it. Claude's eyes have always been a stunning green. With proper sunlight... Dimitri can remember what spring looks like.  
  
It's amazing how much changes with so little... something that Dimitri could say in regards to not only the way sunlight glitters along Claude's dark hair, but even earlier than that, when he had first begun to approach the controller - that 'Erik'. Dimitri knows many of Claude's smiles well, now, and, even at a distance, he had been able to see the subtle shift that had gone through it. While his lips may have been curved into a smile, there had been nothing but iciness in his eyes. A sharpness to his posture that Dimitri suspects had gone ignored by everyone but him.  
  
On an instinctual level, Dimitri knew and still knows that it was a dangerous look. While he's never seen his - friend go out hunting, Dimitri can recognize that it had absolutely been the look of a hunter coldly sizing up prey with the intent to spread their guts upon the ground.  
  
Unfortunately, Erik is still in possession of all of his organs inside of his body, with not a single scar thanks to the effort of the healer. On the other hand... Dimitri watches as Claude recovers from whatever thoughts were roaming inside of his head, his hands a soft clap as they meet.  
  
It's strange to see his tattoos so clearly, sunlight revealing the brilliant red along his skin. Normally, they fade into nonexistence the nights that Dimitri sees him. Their color doesn't show so well in the dark. What's even stranger is watching them burn into existence, red light flaring along his arms before concentrating between his hands.  
  
Red ink. Red light. Neither suit him, Dimitri decides, even if he can respect how smoothly the bow of light forms in Claude's hands.  
  
But that not-smile from earlier? That _had_ suited Claude, in a fascinating way. Dimitri had done his best to follow along, even if his Fodlish isn't that good enough to do such a thing. It had been so easy to get distracted by the sight of Claude's movements, his exaggerated shrugs and obnoxious winks. It had been bright and sharp and charming, all at once, a thing which bloomed all the more at Erik's rage.  
  
Something about that moment is still clinging to Claude's person as he walks across the courtyard until he's a good distance away from the targets. Farther than most humans Dimitri has seen come in here to practice with their own bows, whether of wood or of light. Normally so relaxed, his posture straightens, and he reaches down casually to the string of his bow. There, twisting into existence, comes an arrow made of that same passionate red light. Claude draws it against the string as though he feels nothing, until it's pulled all the way back.  
  
The shot is quick, decisive, and hits close to the center, as far as Dimitri can tell. Certainly from the position he can see, it doesn't go too low or too high. More important is Claude's own assessment of his skill, seeming satisfied. He draws a few more times, a spark of light shimmering down his arms with every new arrow. The light illuminates perfectly the curve of his muscles as they relax and tense, and sparks down at Claude's agile fingers as that light forms yet another arrow.  
  
Faintly, Dimitri wonders what that means, for Claude to feel so at ease that he's not even starting out with suppressing his magic. Others he's seen, when they summon their weapons, can calm down that level of brightness... but Cladue isn't doing so. He must be able to, Dimitri supposes, even as he sees another blur of red light sink into the target. Maybe there's something deeper that he's just not understanding...  
  
Another smooth draw of the arrow, the string. Dimitri had known, in theory, what it had meant for Claude to be a hunter. He had known, in theory, that it meant he was talented in combat. It's another thing to see that theory, that formless _idea_ , be put into physical practice. Dimitri's one good eye stays trained on him, nowhere else, as Claude once again pulls his arm back patiently.  
  
Dimitri doesn't think he'll ever forget the sight that Claude makes, there in the sunshine: clever fingers folding into air and then against an arrow, the ease and tension of his muscles, Claude's profile so sharp and brilliant when properly illuminated.  
  
Something rolls in the pit of his stomach because of it. Dimitri flicks his gaze away, but it's only a moment before he looks back. He's just in time to see Claude casually switch the bow's positioning, now using the opposite hand to pull the string and arrow back with just as much ease as before. His marksmanship doesn't suffer for it... and neither does the way he looks.  
  
It... hasn't escaped Dimitri that Claude is attractive. He's only missing one eye, not both. Now that he hasn't been fighting Claude's existence, Dimitri has been slowly coming to terms with this simple objective fact.  
  
At night, he's an appealing shadow that slips across the courtyard and to Dimitri's cage - lips curled in that familiar smile, moonlight catching the green of his eyes until they don't seem like a color that should be real. The crossing of lines between his warm friendliness on most nights and that darker weight which comes occasionally has been alluring in ways that Dimitri can't explain.  
  
All of that combined has only drawn Dimitri closer and closer, no resistance now. With so much revealed in the light of the sun, that allure has only grown stronger. Multiple pieces, all added together in the space of a single afternoon : the sharp green of his eyes as they're focused on either a target or person, the different ways his smile shifts depending on who he's talking to and what about, the graceful curve of his fingers, the outline of his muscles with every piercing shot.  
  
It would be one thing if Claude simply practiced shooting straight into the target's center. However, of course things cannot be that easy. Apparently, shooting the target straight in the middle is far too simple for Claude, and not truly giving him the exercise or practice that he needs to be at his best.  
  
It's a variety of little things that Dimitri almost doesn't notice - not because he's unobservant but because he's become far too used to the schedule that they've established with each other. But he does notice. He notices how the burning red of magic starts to dim, little by little, with every arrow notched and sent flying. He notices how Claude begins to lean back, or to the side, or draws himself down into a crouch where he has to adjust the way he holds his bow.  
  
Being able to wield his bow with whichever hand was impressive enough. Yet all of this is more than simply how well he can use his bow. This is a practice for all the awkward and complicated positions which come into existence out in real practice, against other living things.  
  
Dimitri can't recall some things about his old life... but others he can recall far better. He can recall clambering about through forests back home, along small fields, jumping through shallows or creeks with friends who'd smile back at him. That had all been in the name of playing. In the name of hunting... Sitting quiet and still for hours, reacting on the fly to fleeing prey or competing predators...  
  
Claude is anticipating all of this - or maybe he's already become intimately familiar with those moments, Dimitri realizes as he watches Claude leap back and raise his arrow high to the air. It's an arcing shot, steep and high, that nevertheless succeeds in sinking right down into the target once again.  
  
The targets are all positioned at a slight angle for archers - hunters or otherwise - to practice just that. Dimitri has watched them on occasion plenty of times in the past, for lack of anything else to do during the daytime. Yet... he's rarely seen other archers take such shots. Only the most skilled hunters, ones that have other people in the church nodding at them respectfully or clustering around them for advice.  
  
That Claude might be among their number is.... strange to think about. Stranger is his reaction as Claude surveys his practice with satisfaction, one hand sweeping back into his hair. In the pit of his stomach, Dimitri feels a hunger stirring, different from the hunger he'd felt only an hour ago while waiting for his meal. He shifts his position, stomach to the ground with his face pressing down against his crossed arms.  
  
His blood feels hot. There's something stirring throughout his whole body as he watches Claude practice, his friend apparently not even paying him any mind. Does he even know Dimitri is watching him? He doesn't act like it, and Dimitri can only be thankful for that little fact. Dimitri has no idea what he can even do about the sensation going through his body right now... besides trying to, best he can, smother it completely and literally.  
  
Yet it's not only his blood that's warm. All around him, the sunlight lays like a comforting blanket where he is stretched out across the ground that comfortably absorbs all that heat. It's the perfect balance, a perfect a day as he's going to get while trapped here. Dimitri does his best to fight against it, opening his eyes whenever he's become aware of how long they've been shut... but some things aren't as easy to fight as his matches down in the killing ring.  
  
Eventually, to the sound of Claude's arrows hitting their mark, Dimitri falls asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun is warped from beneath the water. It still shines as brightly as it does on land, of course, and it hurts for Dimitri to look straight at it a little bit, but it appears warped as the waves move and curl high above. Dimitri likes it. There's a peace underneath water, a calmness that settles down his frantic emotions. The sand presses up between his toes, flowing along this feet. He knows where he's going as he walks on the ocean bottom, even if he doesn't know it, exactly. It's fine.  
  
Eventually, the sand gets exchanged for smooth river rocks, and the river rocks shift into seashells of all sorts. Dimitri remembers collecting them as a child, marveling with his friends as the round smoothness of clam shells and the curling spirals of snail shells and the horn-like ones which could belong on a unicorn. All of them are there beneath his feet, a mosaic of color that feels like home. Faintly, Dimitri wonders if he could give one as a gift, just like when he was small, but with the intentions all changed around.  
  
Movement. A shadow. He tilts his head up, and watches as a swordfish flicks its tail through the water. It's so agile and large, out of even his reach even if he tried to jump. Dimitri almost doesn't, for that reason alone. What's the point. And yet.... He watches it a moment longer, the way it curves smoothly through the water and sunlight shines along its brilliant long fins. It's beautiful, and strange.  
  
Something in his chest clenches, and Dimitri crouches down with a flick of his tail that rattles along the floor of seashells. The swordfish doesn't seem to notice. It continues to simply swim above him, content with its life in a way that he envies. Legs tensing, Dimitri waits for just the right moment before he leaps upwards with all his might and claws outstretched.  
  
The swordfish snaps its tail through the waters, and slides out of his reach. Scowling as he floats back down to the floor, Dimitri clenches his claws and follows after it. He tries a few more times, each attempt a failure. Still, he doesn't give up. Dimitri flattens his ears as much as they can go, and leaps again.  
  
Something crimson suddenly pierces the swordfish, all the way through, and it goes still. It falls limply into his grasp, a creature as big as he is even not counting the sword on its face, and Dimitri holds it close to his body as he slowly floats back down. As he does so, he looks around, and soon finds exactly who he's looking for before his feet touch the ground.  
  
Claude looks even more beautiful underneath the water, sunlight sending water patterns all along his skin and reflecting along his inky black hair. Maybe it's because of the depth of the ocean, but his green eyes look even brighter down beneath the water. He has one of those charming smiles on his face again, a little more honest than his teasing ones but only a little. When Dimitri finally reaches the ground, he trots across the seashells and holds out their catch to Claude eagerly.  
  
Together, they dig in, enjoying the fresh taste of fish that fills the mouth all the way down. It's been so long, and yet it still tastes as good as it did years and years ago. There's not even bones left when they finish, and Dimitri... actually smiles back at Claude, enjoying that way he smiles back with his braid drifting idly in the ocean currents. Things are nice, like this. He doesn't want it to end.  
  
Clearly, Claude is of the same mind as he is. He reaches over and takes him by the hand, pulls him up onto his feet. The ocean doesn't go on forever, despite seeming very much like it should. Eventually, they find a sandy path amongst all the seashells, and that path leads them eventually to a smoothly structured home. It's like a series of boxes all connected together, with a more circular tower-like one attached on one end. There's a large arch as a part of it, meant to protect against the rain, and underneath that small not-quite-tunnel-like area is the door leading inside. Claude smiles at him over his shoulders, tugging him inside.  
  
There's no shimmering underwater light inside the home. It's just... sunlight. Relaxing, warm, afternoon sunlight, filtering in through the bars of the sole high window up against one wall. It's Claude's room, simple and plain, even down to the door with a window of its own similar to that wall across from it. Dimitri hardly glances at any of it, even if he knows what it looks like from top to bottom. All of his attention is ensnared on Claude, who smiles at him from underneath those beautiful long eyelashes of his.  
  
What is he supposed to do? Dimitri doesn't know the answer to that question. He only knows what he _wants_ to do, and what's too much temptation for him to resist. Claude's body is so supple beneath his massive palms, his claws, and his friend doesn't resist at all as Dimitri gently pushes him down onto the floor. Dimitri has seen Claude in a dozen different ways by now, playful and sharp and quiet and hopeful.  
  
It's just the first time he's ever seen him like _this_ : the way his curly hair sprawls in short waves along the floor, and his green eyes eager and warm as they look up at Dimitri. It makes his blood burn and his heart ache. It almost doesn't feel like a _choice_ so much as the natural conclusion when Dimitri leans down to press their mouths together.  
  
Underneath his own mouth, Claude's is soft and pliant, wanting, and the world fades, becomes vague and disconnected as Dimitri pushes further. His teeth, Claude's throat. Hands, to stomach. He slots between his legs so neatly. Warm. He's always so *warm*. Warm, and tight, fingers pressing down against his fur and curling against his neck, into his hair, and-  
  
  
  
  
  
Dimitri's entire body jolts, a missed step in a dream kicking out physically with his own feet, and he startles awake to night's relaxed darkness. Dazed and bewildered, he pushes himself up onto his knees. It's more a force of habit than anything else that has his ears flick up, taking in the noise of the church.  
  
While it may be dark, the sun having sunk behind buildings and whatever else lies beyond _that_ , there's still noise off in the distance, and he thinks he can see the faint light of torches and lamps. It must be around dinnertime for the people of this place, then. Soon after that, they'll sleep... like what he woke up from.  
  
Except maybe not _quite_ like what he woke up from, and Dimitri rubs at his face. His brain doesn't feel quite right, sleep still clinging to parts of it as he does his best to wake. What... was that? He frowns a little, falling back into a kind of drowsiness now that he's had a moment to recover from that sudden strange jolt that had woken him up in the first place.  
  
Dreaming... isn't normally a pleasant affair for him. Of course, that doesn't mean it's always _unpleasant_ either. Oftentimes, he doesn't dream at all, or, when he does, he only wakes up with vague feelings instead of any idea of what he had dreamed about.  
  
Sometimes, they're... nightmares, he supposes would be the right term, although he's not sure if they can really be called as such. They're simply constant replays of the murder he's already done, victims dying again and again under his bloody claws. That's practically his reality; there's no reason to be terrified over them. Rarer still are the nostalgic dreams, memories spread out for him again in his sleep....  
  
But all of that? Dimitri rubs his hands against his face, trying to both wake up a little more even as he's trying to remember the details of his dream. There had been a swordfish, yes, and somehow he'd been underwater, kind of, but that's all... He doesn't think that's particularly strange? What _had_ been strange had been stumbling upon his childhood home, stepping into a room that he can now, in hindsight, identify as the room the church had initially kept him in as a child, and...  
  
....Something is straining against the inside of his pants.  
  
... _Oh_.  
  
Dimitri feels every single hair on his body stand straight up, and he snaps his head around to reconfirm that he truly is alone in the courtyard. It's a little ridiculous to check, on one hand, because of course Claude wouldn't have stayed the entire time after he'd fallen asleep - the daytime rules are different than the nighttime ones. Still, he suddenly and rather _frantically_ needs to make absolutely positive of this fact before he looks down at the bulge in his pants with some amount of dismay.  
  
A part of him almost wonders if he should mock himself for suddenly becoming so self conscious _now_. This is hardly the first time that his body has reacted in such a fashion in all the time that he's been here. Certainly it's not been a _regular_ occasion, but... it's not been an odd one, either. Sometimes it's simply happened for no reason that he could understand, in times much like this, when he'd woken up after a long sleep. There were other times where it would be the aftermath of an execution, and his adrenaline had nowhere else to go except, apparently, _down_.  
  
All of that had been mindless, happening without his interest or care or intent. He'd treated it likewise, waiting for it to go down or turning his back to the open air of the courtyard to get rid of it as quickly as he could. Maybe once upon a time, when he was young and still new to the cruel way he was being treated, he would have felt more shame and embarrassment about it... But that's a part of his life that's long since passed. It's not as though he ever has privacy out in this cage anyway.  
  
That's how it's been for so long. Yet _now_... A surge of embarrassment burns through his body like a wildfire, overwhelming every little bit of him from mind to heart. What is he supposed to do about this? Why did it happen now? With _Claude_? Desperately, with his ears twitching violent from where they've flicked downwards, Dimitri tries to tear through what he can recall of his dream to try and figure out exactly _what_ the two of them had done together.  
  
So they'd kissed. Dimitri understands that - he knows what that is. He'd seen that when he was a child, understood people did it with those they loved. He's seen it happen occasionally outside his cage by the occasional daring couple who'd used his reputation as a means to keep others away so that they could exchange some meager affection. Depending on the individuals involved, he'd throw rocks at them. Then, in his dream, he'd pushed Claude to the ground... and he'd bitten him....  
  
Dimitri rubs at his face some more, and his claws slide upwards until he can curl them around his horns in frustration. How did that make sense? Why had he felt the need to be on top of Claude like that? Wouldn't biting hurt? Once upon a time he may have wished Claude to get hurt, if only so that the other would understand why is was such a terrible idea to give him such care.... But he doesn't feel like that anymore.  
  
Now, when he thinks of hurting Claude - Claude, who patiently waited before him with no expectations. Claude, who reached out with his hand so soft and warm inbetween his. Claude, who's pointed out the stars and all their names to him, the night sky reflected dazzlingly in his eyes...  
  
His grip tightens around his horns before Dimitri lets go, pushing himself up onto his feet awkwardly; the make of his pants isn't meant for a Voa. Every move he makes has it rubbing terribly against the bulge he's sprouted. Still, Dimitri perseveres, turning on his feet so that he can begin a restless pace from one wall of his cell to the other. He doesn't want to hurt Claude, he knows that, and yet when he thinks of the way that he'd sunk his teeth against the tender curved flesh of his neck...  
  
A pulse goes off inbetween his legs, making him stumble, and Dimitri bristles once again. Ordinary walking isn't going to cut it, he sees. Doing his best to power through the discomfort, he begins to walk even faster, not caring that his tail whips back behind him occasionally to smack into the walls of his cage.  
  
All right, so thinking about the way he'd bitten down on Claude is ill advised for right now, he'll save that for later. But what about what had come _after_ that? When he'd- And Claude's legs had been around him -  
  
_Why can't he remember any further details about any of that!?_  
  
Yet while his mind seems to have some difficulties figuring out what it had concocted, if it had made any details at all, Dimitri's body has no such issues. Just thinking about the situation, no matter how vague it was, is enough to get his body heated up all the more, and that place between his legs only seems to ache harder. Snarling into the empty courtyard and his almost equally empty cage, Dimitri quickens his pace. Thinking about it does him no good - he's just going to have to wear out his own body and mind so that they both cease this sort of thing.  
  
It's... a goal that's easier said than done. Every little movement of his legs makes his pants grind up further, sending pleasure uncomfortably building and which he refuses to pay any mind to. Yet while he may not be taking care of it, it certainly is affecting him. Every jolt or underlying current of pleasure only makes his mind go back to that dream, and how Claude had looked with that hazy and pleased expression on his face, the flush that had darkened his skin-  
  
Two legs isn't enough. Dimitri realizes that quickly, and takes to all four of his limbs as he races about his cage. No matter what, he has to destroy his current state, quickly as possible, before Claude comes to visit him. He _has_ to.  
  
Say that as he may, it takes a very long time to accomplish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the side characters in this chapter have gone through three iterations and names for themselves: the original roleplay versions where the apprentice and the controller were named, the draft version where they all had random names, and then this version you see now. They're fun NPCs, and they'll certainly come back again!
> 
> But right now, there are more important things for Claude and Dimitri to worry about. 
> 
> If you are following this in real time, then tomorrow will finish this fic up with the last three chapters!
> 
> And if you want a sneak peek of what is up for the next chapter, one of my partner artists, Rose, has already put up that tweet... just make sure you don't open it at work, or around family members, lmao: https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist/status/1373337679014862850?s=20
> 
> And finally, the lyrics behind this chapter's title: 
> 
> "Don’t ask me where I’ve been  
> You know I know, yes I’ve been told  
> I redefine a sin"


	7. Sin Never Felt So Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate quickly, in a way that Claude could never have predicted. He's not complaining.

Soaking wet from the brief "bath" he was able to take - really more a bucket of water, a cloth, and some soap in a room with a drain - Claude peers down at himself through the little mirror he's made a regular part of his traveling gear.  
  
Like this, fresh from cleaning himself, his hair looks just a little bit of a mess. It's not smooth and swept back, like the church prefers to see. Instead, it forms wild messy curls that shine with the water clinging to it, and he's finally let one long bit hang along the side of his face. Reaching up, he lightly runs his fingers down the short length.  
  
Honestly, he'd normally pin it back and style it into hiding right away; there's no telling when someone might call for him in this place. With how late it is, him having bathed after his own dinner, the worry of that is lesser now. He's rarely had anyone banging on his door this late at night, although it _has_ happened.  
  
But... it's not only for a lack of worry that has him keeping it loose. Claude twirls the long strand around one finger, watching it curl before letting it loose. Like this, it's really easy to manipulate it, which is why he's always styled his hair promptly when getting out of the bath before. For this, however...  
  
He takes the mirror, propping it up along the wall his desk is pressed against, and sits down. Carefully, he begins to wind sections of hair together, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. It takes a little bit of effort before he's finally satisfied. There, in the mirror, he sits with a perfect braid along the side of his face.  
  
Claude chuckles. While he's certainly worn a braid before during journeys where he's been away from church lands, it somehow never fails to make him feel... nostalgic, he supposes is the word. Maybe he'd look better if he shaved a bit. It's not as if he's ever going to grow a beard, which he's sure the priests would all prefer. Despite his Almyran heritage, it's been pretty rough for him. Not thinking too deeply on that, Claude finishes up the braid with a small tie at the end. A bright yellow string... contrasting the white and red and brown he wears for the church.  
  
Will Dimitri like it too, he wonders?  
  
Well, even if Dimitri is apathetic to that, Claude is quite satisfied at what _else_ is guaranteed to make this a good night. A quick check out the window to take in the position of the moon, and Claude reaches underneath his bed. His pack is as full as always, just in case he ever needs to make a run for it for whatever reason... but it's full in an additional way too, and he grins widely as he tugs out a soft but firm heavy parcel.  
  
Dimitri has never complained about the food. He's just never particularly complimented or commented on it before, either. Still, without fail, he's eaten almost every single scrap. Claude is also _pretty_ sure he puts some to the side so that he can eat it for later... Although Dimitri has never told him that for certain. The best Claude has managed has been watching the excited flapping of Dimitri's tail. So for this big haul, full of extra delicious food that he'd gathered both on his journey and here due to a couple of his connections... He's looking forward to the reaction.  
  
Letting the rest of his hair dry on its own without any fussing, Claude slides on his shoes with much softer soles so that he won't make as much noise. And besides the thick parcel of food he tucks under his arm, there's something else to feel good about: how he handled Erik only earlier today. It's impossible to keep himself from grinning with that in mind, even as he carefully slips out of his room and into the empty hallway.  
  
In recent visits, him and Dimitri always seem to find something to talk about. Dimitri has even started to take an interest in the world outside of his cell, outside of the city entirely, even if it's only in terms of where Claude went or what he did.  
  
Yet tonight they'll have a particularly fantastic and engaging subject of conversation: the incident with Erik. Claude isn't sure how much Dimitri picked up on, even if his friend was certainly paying attention to the whole affair. Sure, he was entertained, there was no doubting that, but the full impact probably went over his head.  
  
Claude can't _wait_ to give him all the details; he might even get to hear Dimitri laugh again. It doesn't matter if that makes the ache in his heart (or aches elsewhere) start up again. Thinking about it in the present... The possibility alone puts a bounce in his step that he has to fight against on the way to Dimitri's cell.  
  
There's no difficulty in making his way through the church, thanks to calm nights and his own personally grown familiarity with its layout and the routines of the guards. It's all so perfectly smooth... So of course that means something has to be up. Fortunately, luck is his way, and it has nothing to do with the church or guards. It's Dimitri that makes Claude slow down and pause at the entrance into courtyard.  
  
The moonlight, bright and full tonight, shines down on Dimitri's slumped body where he has his head pressed against the cell bars and his chest and shoulders heaving from heavy breaths. It's the heavy sounds of someone completely exhausted, and Claude forgets all else for a moment as he slows his steps to Dimitri. Did Erik come back again? No, he can't see any wounds... What happened while he was gone? "Hey," he calls softly, stopping before the bars. "Everything okay?"  
  
Blearily, Dimitri raises his head. "Yes. It's-" And he cuts himself off, tail stilling even as his ears flick sharply upwards in clear interest. He says nothing else. All he does is stare at Claude, fascinated.  
  
Apparently he needs a second, and that's fine, because Claude needs a second too. So distracted with his own concern, he forgets for a moment just what could give Dimitri reason to stare... and then it clicks, sparks firing in his brain, and Claude grins. "Does it look that bad?" he teases, suspecting that it's the opposite. It's not as though he can manipulate a denial out of Dimitri, but anything is worth a try at least once-  
  
"No." Dimitri looks away, something Claude can only figure out by the slight tilt of his head - his eyes are still too opaque at this distance for him to make out where Dimitri's pupil is focused. "It.... suits you."  
  
Oh. _Oh_. Claude's heart flutters at the unexpected surprise of such words, swelling and growing warm as he takes them in. It's only four little words, four simple syllables, and yet it makes him more pleased than anything. Yet clearly if he pushes Dimitri on this matter much more... Well, he'll let his friend have his embarrassment. Grinning broadly, he sits outside of Dimitri's cell. "I brought a real haul for you today," he tells Dimitri, holding out the food parcel. "Here."  
  
Getting the parcel through the bars in the first place is quite an effort; Dimitri raises his eyebrows at him as they force it through. It takes no small amount of trying, too. At least it gets through in the end, and Dimitri has to place it down on the floor instead of his lap for unwrapping.  
  
The moment he begins to pull away the paper, Dimitri's nose twitches. It hardly takes anything before the food tumbles out, released from the tight packaging job Claude had done. He would bet solid money that Dimitri's mouth is watering at the sight of it all.  
  
Most noticeable out of everything, on account of it being the largest, would be a sizeable filet of smoked salmon that was caught fresh only this morning. Finagling that out of the kitchens was no small feat, but Claude is glad that he spent the effort into getting it. It's accompanied by a trio of hardboiled eggs which Dimitri has to hastily catch before they roll right off the parchment. Included amongst all that would be a couple of small roasted peppers, hollowed out so that they could be filled with a soft creamy cheese and specks of olive.  
  
All of that would be stuff he was lucky enough to filch from the kitchens with some excellent timing, hiding spaces, and a little sleight of hand. Well, the salmon was actually more good fortune than his own thieving. That's thanks to one of the kitchen staff being fond of him. The benefits of those who work directly on the food, even when it's for higher ranking members of the church... It's nothing to scoff at.  
  
There's other stuff as well that isn't just from the city - things from when he'd returned from his latest task just the other day. A couple of small bags roll off of the pile, filled with pine nuts and candied almonds. The goat cheese has to be moved off, a small cylindrical shape with herbs embedded in its surface. And finally, the things Claude is most pleased about getting... a little honeycake, a rough circle speckled with nuts.  
  
It's absolutely the best that Claude has ever brought before, and he watches Dimitri go still as he surveys it all. A part of him wants to be impatient, see what has Dimitri's tale wagging the quickest or what he goes after first, and he has to hold himself back. There's no point in rushing his friend, after all. Certainly, not rushing is what's helped Dimitri learn how to unwrap the thin paper wrapping without shredding it with his claws.  
  
When Dimitri finally makes a move for the food, he goes straight for the salmon first. His claw slices through it neatly, the fish yielding easily, and he takes that small chunk into his mouth. It's always normal for Dimitri to take his time tasting the foods that Claude brings him, savoring what taste he doesn't otherwise get in his day to day meals... but this feels different somehow. He chews slowly, gaze still directed elsewhere, before eventually swallowing. "It's good," he says quietly.  
  
That's sure a rare bit of commentary on his food - the most enthusiastic response since the honey and cheese combination, as a matter of fact. Claude wastes no time in filing it away. "Should I take that to mean I should bring you more fish?"  
  
"Is there water near here?"  
  
"There's a lake a day's travel from here. Having water so close is one of the reasons the monastery is here." Claude rests his chin in his hand, leaning forward. "But no oceans. The nearest one is far south - two weeks nonstop travel on horseback, at the very least, and that's being generous to any other obstacles that might come up during a long journey. That's where you'll start to run into Voa like yourself, although obviously they're seen the most on their islands, Devan-Voa." Voa being such island existences is what had inspired Claude to get fish in the first place, even if it's freshwater instead of saltwater.  
  
"Is that so..." Dimitri lets that information sink into him, slicing his claw for another slice of salmon. Claude takes note of that as well; Dimitri usually experiments with his food after one bite of everything Claude brings him. If there was any doubt that Dimitri likes fish, it's completely gone now. There's no denying this favoritism, and Dimitri's response is simply a nail in the coffin for the whole matter. "Then.... Yes. I would like more fish."  
  
Well, then that's that. In the future, he'll have to see what he can do about getting Dimitri more fish. It's going to be a little bit tricky, he can't lie, because fish always tastes best when caught absolutely fresh... But Claude knows he can figure it out. All he needs is a little bit of time inbetween everything else he's doing. So he nods, and settles back in place again as he watches Dimitri eat.  
  
While he'd gone for a repeat bite with the fish, apparently two is all Dimitri will let himself have before he starts picking at the rest of his meal. Claude expects for Dimitri to ask him more about the lake, or what kind of fish it is that he's eating... And nothing comes. It's simply silence, almost a backslide from how comfortable they've managed to become after all of this.  
  
Claude shrugs it off. That's just over excessive worrying, and he knows it. Dimitri's complimented his hair (a fact he's never going to stop being giddy about, as much as he tries to fight those feelings). He'd given one of his rare shows of interest in the food that Claude brought him. If anything, Dimitri is probably hyperfocusing on all the food he's been brought tonight, and how it tastes. Claude leaves him to it, waiting for the moment when Dimitri snaps out of how good the food is.  
  
That moment... doesn't come. As the time begins to stretch into the unusual, Claude rouses himself, and stares at Dimitri a little harder. He'd thought that his friend was simply getting absorbed in the meal, but now that he's looking closely... Isn't Dimitri steadfastly avoiding looking at him at all? It might be more than simply being preoccupied by food...  
  
A bit of regret curls in his stomach. Ah... He has a feeling what this could be about. Claude quirks up an eyebrow. "You're awfully avoidant tonight," he remarks, beginning in a roundabout way that leads up to his suspicions. Across from him, Dimitri freezes. "Did something I say earlier upset you? When I was talking this afternoon?"  
  
After all, he'd said at least a couple of things that could be taken badly. Dimitri is in such a sensitive space, it's not outside the realm of possibility that he'd taken it hard that a positive force in his life could still say things like calling him a demon...  
  
"You know a lot of that was just covering my ass, so... If I said something offensive, I'll apologize, but I was probably just saying it for their benefit in any case."  
  
Dimitri fiddles with one of the almonds he'd been tasting, still not looking up at Claude. "No... That is not it."  
  
"Then what is it?" Claude studies him for a moment.  
  
Dimitri isn't the kind of person who lies easily. He was like that when they were children, too, and the environment he's grown up in hasn't really given him any reason to develop the habit. He's sure if he can just get him comfortable...  
  
He grins. Well, time to either bullshit or aggravate his old friend into action. One or the other works just fine. "Am I just too attractive to look at now that I've gone back to my old hair style? I mean, I can't say I blame you. Even a Voa could probably get impure thoughts from a human who looks this good. Nothing to be embarrassed about when it'd be harder not to-"  
  
He's bullshitting, filling dead air with a runaway mouth, and it's impossible for him to stop even when Dimitri starts to react - first with his ears twitching downwards, then bristling fur, and when Claude brings up _impure_ thoughts... His head snaps up, eye wide, distress and embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. "It is not...!" But Dimitri trails off, claws grasping at empty air as he stares at Claude.  
  
Claude stares back. His quick and brilliant mind is failing him, grasping at words only to have them slip through his fingers. It's pure habit that has him respond. "Not your what?" he asks in a daze, his mind trying to pull itself together again. His mind trying to accept what his powers of observation are telling him - that Dimitri is doing the opposite of denying Claude's silly and ridiculous claims. In fact, he's doing more than just that. Dimitri is _confirming_ them.   
  
He can't even be incredulous. As Claude stares, he struggles just to accept he's _right_.  
  
All of his confused staring, the tangled mess of his own mind, must surely be the most obvious thing in the world. And yet Dimitri continues on, embarrassment a whole new cloak draped over him that Claude has never seen before in all of their meetings. "Not my fault that I..." Dimitri can't continue on, words strangled in his throat.  
  
"So... You're saying..." Claude finally gathers the shattered remnants of his mind together, still thunderstruck as he stares at Dimitri. "You actually did have dirty thoughts about me?"  
  
Dimitri's expression goes blank. It occurs to him, faintly, that Dimitri hadn't realized he was teasing. That this is what Dimitri was trying to hide, and not think about, all this time. For a moment, the two of them simply sit there in absolute silence, staring... and then Dimitri gets up, turns around, and makes his way over to the direct opposite side of his cell where he curls up and his tail flicks around his body again.  
  
And that's it. Claude slowly starts to snap out of it. Dimitri may as well prop up a sign saying that he wants to curl up and die from mortification. And yet, as the new knowledge finally begins to settle itself in Claude's brain... He begins to laugh.  
  
Not at Dimitri, of course. He'd never be that cruel like that even with his tendency to tease, especially to such a dear friend. He certainly wouldn't laugh at Dimitri for something he's blatantly self conscious about. That Dimitri can express such emotions after so long of being angry and confused and wary is a precious gift. No, no, he'd never laugh at him for that.  
  
He's laughing at _both_ of them, coping with his own shock and the giddiness that's rapidly growing in his chest. From the very first moment he'd laid his eyes on his old friend again, both of them adults, he'd thought him attractive. It's been a dream all this time that's stirred at his loins, and that he's had to fight away with meditation or other things to distract his mind, although he's yet to vanquish any of his nighttime dreams. After all, there'd been no _point_ in indulging them.  
  
All this time, he's been working just to reforge their _friendship_. Doing anything at all with his own attraction, even the most basic flirting, has seemed like something for the far off future. Something for when Dimitri was free, and _had_ been free for... who knows. At least months. Probably years.  
  
Even after all that, his thoughts have always been with the consideration that _he'd_ have to be the one putting in all the work when it came to anything sexual. And that wasn't even talking about the romantic side of things. _That_ was an entirely different kettle of fish.  
  
The only thing Claude can do is focus on what's right in front of him, and he finally recovers enough to look over at the still curled up and bristling body out of his reach. Wheezing a little, Claude wipes the tears away from his eyes. "Man, clearly I never should have stopped braiding my hair."  
  
Anyone else would pick up on the indication there that Claude is more than welcoming of Dimitri's interest... But all Dimitri does is bristle harder, which is an impressive feat with how short Voa hair is. Well, that's not a surprise. It's a bit subtle, and Dimitri isn't good at picking up little things like that. Frankly, it may take something drastic to snap him out of the embarrassment that's taken over his body from claw to horn tip.... That's fine.  
  
After all, there's a very easy way to accomplish this, and Claude doesn't mind the opportunity.  
  
"I'm not laughing at you, you know," he says easily, leaning closer to the bars. "I'm mostly laughing because I thought it would be ages before I could admit that I was having the same kind of thoughts about you." The limited light catches Dimitri's golden fur perfectly, the way the embarrassed quivering freezes. "At least, before I could admit it without you freaking out, or getting ticked off..." He smiles, watching as Dimitri's ears twitch. So he's listening. Good. "And here it is... Not even before the year is done. It's a pretty flattering way to realize you've underestimated your own appeal."  
  
A couple of seconds pass before Dimitri finally dares to look over his shoulder back at Claude, who's still sitting so casually as if this were any other night. The frantic beat of his heart says that it's not, of course, but he's quite good at faking it. "The same?" Dimitri echoes back at him, as he's done a couple of other nights in the past - nights where he was worried that he was too unstable, that he was hearing things that weren't true, and needed Claude's presence right there in front of him to confirm what was real or not.  
  
Claude can't blame him. Neither of them, for their own reasons, could have expected the night to turn out this way. He grins at Dimitri, and hopes his nervous heart is as well hidden as he wants it to be. That the tension in his body is something only he knows about, and that Dimitri can't see it himself.  
  
Because the truth is.... This is too close to his heart, no matter if it's sexual or romantic, for him to truly play it off so easily. He can talk and laugh and smile all he wants, but that's the truth: he can't be blasé about this either, no matter how much he may want to be.   
  
"I mean, I don't know if you've had the chance to look in mirrors or anything," he says, forcing his body to stay relaxed, "but you've grown up to be built like a better class of god. Which, you know, may not be so surprising for someone who's basically a gladiator, but they could model statues off of you. Actually, I've seen less impressive statues."  
  
Slowly, Dimitri's fur smooths back down, and the tension in his tightly curled up form dissipates. He braces his palms against the floor, and pushes himself up - not entirely, using both his hands and his feet. Every single one of his movements is slow, cautious - but intrigued.  
  
Claude's seen it enough times when he's gone out into the woods and other wild places: enormous predators investigating something new and interesting to their eyes. Yet Claude has never seen one like Dimitri... and they've never made heat pool in his gut like his friend does.  
  
Dimitri's tongue darts out along his mouth and teeth; Claude is helpless to do anything but follow it with his eyes. "Describe them," Dimitri says, the low husk of his voice making Claude's heart pound even harder in his chest. He's approaching, inch by inch, fingers spread out with only the tips along the floor.  
  
Swallowing thickly, Claude watches him, enraptured. "What, the statues?" he asks breathlessly. It's for more than just confirmation. Every single bit of Dimitri right now - his movements, the size of him, that brilliant bright eye and the sound of his voice - it's making Claude ache and want more than anything. To be specific, he thinks he'd like to hear Dimitri say _exactly_ what he means, in that deep, husky voice of his.  
  
Such teasing only makes Dimitri narrow his eye, and a low growl rolls out of him that goes straight between Claude's legs. Claude licks his lips, unable to stop staring. Not _wanting_ to stop staring. "You know not that," Dimitri says, that growl still carrying through his voice as he comes ever closer. His gaze is just as transfixed on Claude as the reverse is true. "The thoughts you've had of me... I want to hear them."  
  
Well, that won't be hard to do at all, calling up the kind of thoughts he's had of Dimitri. Claude licks his lips. He's having more of them right now. "A lot of them have to do with how big you are," he murmurs, drawn closer to the bars like Dimitri is. "How you could hold me down, and do just about anything you wanted to me..." He smirks a little. "I've even thought about how you crept up on me that one night, and touched my neck."  
  
Reaching up, he traces his fingers right where he can still so vividly remember Dimitri's. Maybe it's his imagination, but he likes to think Dimitri's gaze follows.  
  
"That should be scary... but something about it is kind of hot, too." His gaze flicks down to Dimitri's hands, dark in the moonlight. "I've thought about what you could do with your claws... and your teeth." When he looks up to meet Dimitri's gaze again, it's with the realization that they're both equally close to the bars now. When Claude grins, it's accompanied by a knowing, sly look. "I could go on."  
  
Dimitri reaches forward, claws grazing along the ground, and the lightest contact of his hand against Claude's leg sends shivers up his spine. "I want to," he says, voice low, rough, heavy with a desire that's more than quickly growing. "I could. You're so easy to pin..." His claws dig in, just enough, one after the other against Claude's leg.  
  
It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's becoming hard from this, but Claude doesn't care. He even shifts closer to the bars, presses his leg up into Dimitri's claws as that faint pain digs in all the more. "If only the damn bars weren't in the way, right?" he breathes, the two of them so close and yet helplessly far away. He's always, _always_ , had plenty of reasons to want to get Dimitri out of here... But right now, this feels like one of the most pressing. "Although, you know, I'm not that easy to pin..." Reaching through the bars, he runs his fingertips along Dimitri's strong jaw, and grins. "Except maybe by people I want to pin me. That might be another story."  
  
Eyelashes fluttering, Dimitri turns his face into Claude's palm and takes a deep breath. Now that Claude thinks about it, this is the first time he's ever been the one to reach out to touch Dimitri....  
  
A soft mouth runs along his skin, followed by the points of Dimitri's fangs as they drag against flesh. "Other people aren't me," he growls, fangs digging in just a little harder. At the same time, Dimitri shifts his hand, and he presses the claw of his thumb against Claude's thigh, right on the inside.  
  
"That's kind of the point," Claude says, shivering at those teeth, that claw. Dropping his hand from Dimitri's jaw, tempting as those teeth might be, Claude lets it fall until his fingers are trailing down along Dimitri's chest. They run languidly down his sternum to his stomach, then lower, fingers dragging through fur. Underneath his touch, Dimitri's muscles tense and shiver, so strong and powerful that it makes _Claude's_ mouth water thinking about it all, even underneath such a smooth expanse of fur.  
  
Still, he goes slow, watching Dimitri carefully for his reactions. Softly, the claws at his thigh knead into it, like a cat making itself at home... but Dimitri doesn't stop him. He simply watches Claude as well, breath low and hot against his face, all up until Claude's fingers slide over the thick bulge in Dimitri's pants. That's when Claude finally breaks his gaze with Dimitri, hand cupping that heavy erection. Immediately, his mouth goes dry with want.  
  
In his dreams, and the start of his fantasies, he'd always imagined Dimitri to be thick, and large, something that would stretch him out nice and full. Now, with the real thing literally in his grasp... Gods, it's kind of embarrassing and slutty, but unbelievably _enticing_ , taking note that the reality of Dimitri lives up to his fantasies. In this area, at least. His own cock throbs, eager for attention. Well, it can hold on for a little while.  
  
Slowly, he rubs his palm over that firm erection, and draws out a low moan from Dimitri's mouth. His old friend is still only staring at him, panting - of course he has no idea what to do here. Why would he? Claude continues to take the lead, continues to rub between Dimitri's legs. "You know," he murmurs, "I've gotten to know some Voa over the years... but none so well that I have any idea of what you look like down there." His gaze flicks from the bulge he's fondling, up to Dimitri's face. "I haven't even known what exactly to fantasize about..."  
  
"I could say the same about you..." Dragging himself from his own pleasure, Dimitri adjusts the hand he already has in the bars so that it can creep further up Claude's leg. Instead of gripping between Claude's own legs, however, Dimitri's hand finds his waist instead, and tugs him closer until he's all but pressed up against the bars.  
  
Claude grins. "Well, I've never been able to resist satisfying my curiosity..." He takes his hand off of Dimitri, and earns a low growl of dissatisfaction in return. Immediately, he hushes him. "Hey... Don't forget where we are," he murmurs, tugging on Dimitri's pants pointedly. "As much as I'd love hearing all the sounds you want to make... As much as I'd love dragging sounds out of you... We can't be loud. Either of us. Especially if it's the kind of sounds the guards haven't heard you make before."  
  
There's another low growl of discontent, but Dimitri still reaches down for the cloth belt around his own pants. "Do you ever make noise?" he asks accusingly, fingers clumsy and hasty as he soon gives up to tug at his pants as a whole. That's probably going to leave holes in the fabric for belt and pants alike, with Dimitri's claws being what they are.... A problem that can be for the future, if it's ever a problem at all. Claude can't bring himself to care much about it.  
  
Not when the reveal of Dimitri's cock has his breath catch.  
  
A penis is a penis, no matter what animal it belongs to. While the shapes can certainly get _odd_ , penises always go in a certain direction with a certain purpose. Additionally, Voa may have a lot of things humans don't, like fur and long ears and horns, but they're still mostly humanoid. (Self centered a description that may be.) Claude had... figured he could only be so surprised.  
  
And yet it's distinctly non-human in ways he couldn't have predicted. While straightforward enough for his experiences, and _massive_ enough for his preferences... The length is pointed, smooth, and, devoid of fur, its flushed color stands out starkly against the rest of Dimitri. None of that - or maybe all of that combined - really shouldn't turn him on more... and yet somehow it does.  
  
Maybe the church is right about him, although that's a thought Claude thinks without any particular regret. There's no flimsy moral purity that could be worth passing this up, and he snaps out of his own salivating to slyly smile up at Dimitri again.  
  
"Wouldn't you rather find out for yourself if I can make a noise like that?" he asks sweetly, shaking off the inaction of admiration in order to reach out. Running his fingers along the shaft of Dimitri's cock, Claude has to bite down on his lower lip.  
  
Gods, it feels so much hotter than the rest of him... All bare skin, no fur. As Claude teases, Dimitri presses his forehead against the bars, and his free hand reaches up to wrap tight around one of them. Claude can feel that hot breath through his hair, sending loose curls fluttering. He wonders if he can overwhelm Dimitri with pleasure, with this thing he doubts his friend has ever dealt with before...  
  
Well, if he can, Dimitri won't let him have it so easily. Refusing to be distracted by Claude's fingers gliding all around his arousal, Dimitri moves the hand he has at Claude's waist. His claws scrape lightly against the side of Claude's neck, his jaw, until they're sliding into his hair... and he grips his fingers there, light, with a twist.  
  
Claude makes a low sound, one that's only _partially_ pain, and his eyelashes flutter. There's something about it that burns through his system, something about the pain that has its own intoxicating quality - a promise of pleasure contrasted in it all.  
  
Like salt that enhances the sweetness of a dessert.  
  
Claude doesn't let himself get distracted by the sensation; he can't afford to. For all that he's only just arrived and they have a decent amount of time, he doesn't want this to get cut short.... And he can't resist exploiting this opportunity for all its worth. Not after weeks of sexual fantasies nipping at his heels.  
  
So with an idea of just how thick Dimitri truly is, how long, he finally wraps his fingers around him and begins to move. Slowly, at first, but that's more than enough to make Dimitri shudders from toe to ear. There's a small shift of his hips, claws against Claude's scalp... but he doesn't move any faster. He can't afford to. Dimitri's cock is still dry, so going too fast or too rough would likely just hurt him. If he can simply work Dimitri up enough to draw out precome...  
  
At least, he sure hopes that Voa biology is close enough to human biology in that regard. If that's not the case, then, well... He'll have to figure out something. Fast.  
  
Another sharp pull, a small jerk, of Dimitri's claws in his hair when Claude slides down his cock to the base. There, it's a little thicker. Claude bites back the soft noise of pleasure he wants to make. "You like that?" he breathes, trying to focus, keep his hand moving so delicate and slow along Dimitri's length.  
  
He can't get over how _hot_ it feels, in his hand alone. His fingers reach up to the tip. Nothing yet. Down again... If it's this hot just in his hand, how will it feel when this massive thing starts to fill him up, stretch him out. Base again. Is it thicker? Just his imagination, he thinks.  
  
He can't really think at all, actually. His breath quickens as he gets lost in the feel of Dimitri's cock, and he swallows when he finally feels precome gathered at the tip of him. It's leaking out.... more than he would have expected, actually. Well, he won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Enveloping the tip of Dimitri's cock, he smears it all along his palm before sliding down again-  
  
_Oh_ , heaven help him.  
  
Dimitri's cock... actually really is thicker near the base, and has been growing all the moreso the entire time. Because... it's not just a thick part of his anatomy. Claude feels his mouth grow dry as much as his own arousal throbs. It's because Dimitri has a _knot_.  
  
That knowledge alone feels like it's going to _kill him_ , a bigger threat than the claws he can feel sliding from his hair to settle along the back of his neck. Immediately, the thoughts start to drown out everything else in his mind, until Dimitri's knot is all he can think about.  
  
How would it feel, to have Dimitri fuck him with that? What would it even be like? Could it even fit - already swollen like his fingers can feel as they skim across the firm muscle, or swelling up inside of him even more? Claude doesn't know the answer to any of those questions... But his eagerness to find out is almost _embarrassing_.  
  
Yet not so embarrassing that he stops himself, fingers gliding back up for more precome. It's dripping all the more freely thanks to his ministrations. Claude doesn't speed up - forgets to.

  
  
He wants to tell Dimitri what he's thinking so badly... He doesn't care if this means the church was right about him, can't muster up the shame even if this might be the kind of thing one _should_ have shame about. They've been wrong before, priorities all screwed up. Claude only has one priority in front of him, and it's Dimitri's thick cock slick in his hand as he slides his fingers down once more.   
  
It would work Dimitri up like nothing else, he's sure, if he were to tell him how he's thinking about this cock inside of him, about being fucked by his knot, pinned underneath his massive frame.... Claude swallows, and realizes his mouth is still dry. He realizes something else, too - that he can't say a word on this. He can keep pumping his hand up and down Dimitri's length, feed his arousal more that way, but... He can't tell him his thoughts.  
  
That would be cruel. Dimitri's claws press lightly into the soft skin of his neck, and Claude barely notices, lost in his thoughts and the motion of his hand. Dimitri is stuck in this cell, both of them unable to reach each other as they truly want to. One day he's going to get Dimitri out of here, that's a guarantee, but... It would seem like an empty promise now. And empty promises, dreams he can't trust, are exactly what has hurt Dimitri so much in the past. So Claude bites his tongue, almost literally, tries to figure out how to lavish praise onto Dimitri's cock-  
  
There's only the slight bit of movement, Dimitri's hand sliding down from the bars, before a pressure inbetween Claude's legs draws a guttural gasp out of him. It's more surprise than arousal - he'd been so lost in his own head, the rhythmic kneading of Dimitri's claws against his neck. It feels like fire is coursing through his veins now, heat pounding from his cock, and he clumsily reaches up to grab at the bars with his free hand. "Oh fuck," he breathes, and bites back a moan when Dimitri's claws scrape along his skin.  
  
Of course. He's not the only one involved in this. Dimitri's slow spreading grin, all sharp teeth at the ability to make Claude fall apart for him, is a solid reminder of that. Carefully, his old friend begins to grind the heel of his palm up against Claude's arousal, and he has to fight to control his stuttering breath. Dimitri's hand is so big... and, almost more than that, he's taking so much _care_ in the way he adjust his claws so that they don't prick into him down there. It makes his heart ache almost as much as his arousal.  
  
Well, it's just rude if he keeps getting lost in his own head. For this sort of thing... He should really pay Dimitri back. So Claude slowly drags his hand all the way down Dimitri's length, down to that thick knot where his palm smooths over it. He squeezes down directly over it, riding upwards again as though he's trying to milk him completely, and Dimitri jolts violently in his grip. He actually _snarls_ , face contorted in pleasure. Claude makes a low noise of pleasure too... and even he can't tell what it's in response to.  
  
The claws pricking at the back of his neck? The scratch marks that burn so brilliantly? The hand rubbing him through his pants? Or is it that hard thick knot that his palm returns to...  
  
As he does so, a thought hits him almost out of nowhere. How much is Dimitri going to come... exactly?  
  
Is it... a lot?  
  
Claude doesn't have a lot of experience with knotted dicks, as he told Dimitri. On point of fact, he has zero. However, logically, it seems like the purpose of the knot might be to seal in... a lot of semen. How much of a mess are they going to have on their hands here? To be more specific, his hands? And can Claude - who has to walk back to his room, through monastery halls that might not be completely empty - keep his clothes respectably clean?  
  
...Well. He'll deal with it when he deals with it. Just like he'll deal with getting out of his pants before he comes in them like a horny teenager.  
  
"Damn, you're so hot like this," he murmurs, voice breathless and hot in a way he's never used around Dimitri before. He continues to stroke Dimitri, slow again. But what he's lost in speed, he makes up for in being thorough as he strokes all the way up from knot to tip, giving a squeeze every time he reaches the bottom as well. It seems to be working well enough, Dimitri still snarling quietly while his forehead digs against the bars. "You'd wreck me if you could really get your claws on me, wouldn't you? And I'd love it..." Another squeeze down on Dimitri's knot, which in turn makes that large palm grind up into him, and Claude swallows up his moan.  
  
It threatens to tumble out of him when Dimitri's claws on his neck tug him just an inch closer, and Claude looks up into that brilliantly blue eye. "I want _you_ ," he says, words coming from the deepest parts of him, from his arousal and deeper still. From Dimitri, straight to Claude's cock, and he makes another breathless, heated sound from within his throat.  
  
At Claude's neck, Dimitri's claws shift to keep him perfectly in place even as Dimitri starts to squirm against his cell bars. "Claude," he rasps, the claws down inbetween his legs threatening to tear through the fabric. "I- I can't-" His words flounder, no proper vocabulary to describe what he's experiencing.  
  
Fortunately for them both, Claude knows exactly what Dimitri means to say. He could pick it up from the throbbing in his palm even if he couldn't. "Show me what you look like when you're coming for me," he breathes, tipping Dimitri's cock back as he firmly slides his hand down back to his knot. He gives a rougher squeeze than he's yet dared to all this time, and then tightly drags his fingers up the length of him, almost trying to _pull_ the orgasm out of Dimitri's body.  
  
With a feverish intensity burning in him, Claude watches as Dimitri grabs at the bars of his cell, the metal whining from the force of his grip. His orgasm rocks through him, come splattering all across his fur, thick where it clings to the point that it drips down Dimitri's legs, over Claude's hand. It's a high first shot... but it doesn't stop, after that. It continues to pour out of Dimitri bit by bit, gravity and lower pressure working together to have it trickle all over him.  
  
Claude will say this - that makes it far easier for him to work Dimitri's cock, so simple as to be automatic. That's good... because he can't tear his eyes away, far more turned out by the pump of come that's pouring out of Dimitri as his friend clings desperately to the bars.  
  
He wants it so badly - all of it, pouring into him, leaving him a sloppy mess beneath Dimitri. Claude's gaze flicks up, towards Dimitri's face, and he takes in his friend. It must be a strange and foreign sensation, this kind of pleasure. Enough to make his face contort and his voice become lost from the intensity of it all.  
  
Yet now, as the pleasure rides out so much more slowly even with Claude's hand pumping at his cock, his expression relaxes a great deal, and he slowly begins to grind into Claude's hand. A hand that's practically coated in come, now.  
  
"I didn't know there would be so _much_ ," he murmurs, still watching Dimitri's face. The pure concentrated amount of dazed bliss coating his eye has him suspect Dimitri doesn't even understand what he's saying right now. That's fine. Claude doesn't mind it, just like he doesn't mind the sore wrist he's undoubtedly going to wake up to tomorrow. "I guess you wouldn't know if all Voa come like this... So I'll just take this as confirmation that I'm really that good."  
  
Still nothing. Just that simple dazed contentment, the kind Claude isn't sure Dimitri has ever gotten outside of sleep. Eventually Dimitri finally recovers fully, and he blinks awake. Throughout all of his, his hand had fallen from inbetween Claude's legs to lightly grip (and then just lay against) his thigh. Now that he's ridden through his own orgasm, Dimitri is a lot more attentive. "You..." He reaches up, lightly tugging at Claude's own pants.  
  
Claude shivers in response, still obviously hard. "Looking to return the favor?" he asks lightly, pulling his own hand off of Dimitri only when he stops feeling any pulses of arousal entirely. "I'm not going to complain... Although you'll have to do all the work."  
  
His hand is absolutely covered in semen, after all... and it would be a little counterproductive if he tried to undo his pants in that state. Casually, he flicks some of the excess come off of his hand. There's so much of it that it splatters against the dusty ground with a distinct splat.  
  
The good news is that all his effort into bringing Dimitri paper wrapped meals has paid off. Certainly, Dimitri isn't gentle as he removes his claws from Claude's neck in order to focus on removing his belt, his pants - but he's still accurate enough to get it all off without puncturing or tearing through Claude's clothes. Soon, his pants are crumpling down around his knees, and his cock is finally exposed to the cool night air.  
  
Amidst his shivering from the sudden sensation, no longer burdened by his pants, Claude can't help but... feel self conscious, and he laughs. "It's... not as impressive as yours, I know," he says, playing it off. Dimitri is enormous, of course - a lot of the difference is simply that of proportions. _Still_... After seeing Dimitri like that, his own climax feels as though it's going to be an _anti_ climax-  
  
"Does it matter?" Claude blinks, and he stares up into that brilliant blue eye. After a moment, he doesn't even get a choice. He _has_ to stare upwards, thanks to Dimitri's fingers wrapping around the back of his neck, keeping him trapped so that he can't turn his head to look at anything else.  
  
And yet it's not meant to keep him in place, not wholly. Dimitri lifts Claude up, draws him from his kneeling position, until it's not too much of a stretch for Dimitri to lean down and meet him.  
  
The bars of Dimitri's cell are too close together for the voa to get his head through, that's outright impossible... But they're not so close together that Dimitri can't press his muzzle through instead. "I want you," Dimitri says, voice still low and husky, before he drags the flat of his tongue all the way up the exposed curve of Claude's throat. "All of you."  
  
_Oh_. Claude feels breath leave him in one fell swoop, and he shudders against the rough, hot swipe of Dimitri's tongue against his skin. Dimitri's touch against his cock is a surprise without him able to look down and see, and it's even more of a surprise to feel the soft pads of his fingers as they wrap around him. Without shame, without hesitation, Claude rocks his hips into that soft grip and feels himself falling apart in Dimitri's grip.  
  
The grip around his neck. The grip around his cock. And even a grip around his heart, throbbing with so much painful want that he doesn't know what to think or feel at all.  
  
At least his body knows what it wants, so close to release that it _hurts_. He ruts his hips up into Dimitri's grip, seeking any sort of friction that he can get. It doesn't take much, after that - simply the slightest movement of Dimitri's hand, a swift jerk, and he hits his climax immediately. Burying his face against one arm, gripping a bar with his one dry hand, Claude moans Dimitri's name. It must be incoherent, mouth full of cloth as it is, but Claude doesn't care. He's been swept away, in emotion and orgasmic bliss both.  
  
"Fuck," he murmurs, pulling his face away from his arm and full of breathless amusement. Turning his head, he smiles blearily up at Dimitri. When was he allowed back onto earth, Dimitri's hand away from his neck? It happened so gently while he recovered from his orgasm... He didn't notice at all. "That was... incredible." He suddenly laughs, a little quiet and a little hoarse. "And probably insane to do, under the circumstances."  
  
If he'd gotten caught at this... Claude has no idea what would become of him. He'd like to say not an execution, with the way Dimitri favors him, but he knows that the church has ways around whatever Dimitri himself might want. It's why that brand is burned into his old friend's wrist, after all. And yet...  
  
His smile stays strong as he looks up at Dimitri. "Although as long as we can avoid getting caught, I'd still do it as many times as we could get away with, even if I have no idea what the church would say if they caught me doing this."  
  
Having been lost in his own thoughts as he'd stared down at Claude, Dimitri snaps out of it was a dismissive shake of his head. " _Sin_ and _blasphemy_ , most likely," he says dully, repeating the words in smoother Fodlish than one might expect. Then again, with where he's been stuck at for decades now, Claude supposes it's hardly a surprise that Dimitri knows words like that.  
  
He inspects his hand curiously, in a much better state than Claude's own is when it comes to the amount of semen that's prevalent there. He shakes it lightly, and, when that doesn't get much of it off his hand at all, he raises it to his mouth for a curious little lick.  
  
Claude can't help grinning at that, all the moreso when Dimitri glances up at him awkwardly from beneath his bangs and with a small twitch of his chin, his fingers still near his tongue. Unintentional eroticism is incredibly charming coming from Dimitri...  
  
...But Claude's a fan of intentional, carefully executed flirtation when it comes to things _he_ does. So, holding Dimitri's gaze, Claude raises his own dirtied hand to his mouth and, rather deliberately, sucks one fingertip clean while he's certain his friend is watching. It's almost possible to literally see Dimitri's brain fall apart into pieces behind his stare.  
  
Still, there's no way he's cleaning his entire hand this way. There's so much of it that it would become more gross than erotic... Also, Claude isn't sure if a person can get sick or not if they try and swallow this much semen all at once, especially as it cools.  
  
Tucking himself back into his pants with his free hand, Claude pushes himself up. "I'm gonna go clean up with some water," he tells Dimitri, pointing back to the pump he knows is in the corner of the courtyard, far away from Dimitri's cell. Fortunately for the two of them, there's a bucket that's always supposed to be left there, so... "Should I bring you some to wash yourself up with?"  
  
Being spoken to snaps Dimitri out of the daze that Claude's earlier antics left him in, and he blinks a few times. "Oh... That is an option," he murmurs, having clearly remembered the pump's purpose can be used for him as well, so long as Claude is there to help him. It rarely comes up, to be fair, and Dimitri does have to deal with things on his own when Claude isn't around. "Then... Yes." Besides his hand, Dimitri has to clean the rest of his stomach off as well.  
  
It takes a few minutes for Claude to get the bucket of water. While the pump isn't particularly far away, it does take a little bit of work to get the water flowing, and Claude doesn't want to get _too_ little for a guy as big as Dimitri is. The short amount of time he's away is more than enough time for Dimitri to shuck out of his pants completely. When Claude leaves the bucket down right in easy reach of the bars, Dimitri murmurs a quiet thanks before quickly getting to work.  
  
As he settles back down in place again, Claude smiles with a warm gaze focused right on Dimitri. "Not really how I expected my visit to go tonight," he says softly, "although I'm not complaining, mind you."  
  
Pausing from where he's just finished cleaning his hand, fingers near the mess along his stomach, Dimitri glances back at the food he had abandoned and then back at Claude. "...It was not something I intended to do either," he agrees, quickly and efficiently swiping himself down. Soon, he's washed his hand again, and he's back before his meal. No doubt he's a little bit tired after something like that - at least, Claude certainly is, and he can't imagine the voa sex process being any different - but Dimitri still sits down before his food regardless.  
  
After such an exciting and unexpected event... Claude is fine with the silence that falls over the two of them. It's not an uncomfortable one, far from it. Rather... it's the warm and relaxing weight of a blanket, with Claude content to sit alongside Dimitri as his friend works through one of the eggs. If the night ended like this... Claude doesn't think he would mind.  
  
Dimitri has other ideas, apparently. Claude can tell as his friend keeps shifting his head ever so slightly to look up at him again and again. Soon, his feelings come to fruition, and Dimitri tucks the remains of his egg into his cheek before getting to work.  
  
He tugs the small honeycake by its bit of paper, that which had kept it safe from the fish, and presses one claw into it. It's not a perfect knife, but it does the job well enough. When he's done, Dimitri puts one roughly carved half of the cake on the wax paper that's holding the rest of his dinner. That leaves the other half on its own little scrap.  
  
And that, Dimitri gently, shyly, nudges closer to Claude.  
  
Claude could protest that he doesn't need any treats. He doesn't. He could say that he's more than free to get treats for himself if he wanted. He doesn't.  
  
Instead, he thinks of a child behind the tiny barred window of a door, lighting up as he saw him approach. He thinks of clawed hands clumsily trying to pass honey candy back into his own so that they could share properly. He thinks about that, and he smiles, more honest than he's ever smiled for a very long time as the warmth spills out of him.  
  
When he accepts Dimitri's generosity, accepts the cake, it tastes better than anything else he's had in a really long time.  
  
"I'm glad you decided to go with it," he says quietly, and Dimitri glances away, a turn of his whole head, but that's alright. Claude is more than fine with the two of them falling into a comfortable silence, something where they can both recover from the storm of emotions that's swept them away unexpectedly. Besides, he has his own thoughts to go over.  
  
More then ever, he's convinced of two things.  
  
The first is that his plan to free Dimitri is absolutely necessary. That was never truly in doubt, not from the first day that Claude saw him covered in another person's blood in the execution arena. It's knowledge that's only grown impossibly strong the more he's come to visit Dimitri over the months. When he's seen Dimitri fall apart, when he's seen how he's treated... The need to set him free has pounded in Claude's chest like a war drum.  
  
And now, more than ever, that need pounds because of the second thing, and it's that he knows the larger and _overall_ plan will _work_.  
  
He's not only thinking about the plan to get Dimitri out of his cell, out of the church's control. He's thinking about the plan to give Dimitri the good life he wants him to have, the good life he _deserves_. And that.... It's going to work.  
  
Dimitri doesn't have to stay trapped somewhere far away by himself, recovering from the lifetime of pain and suffering that the church has forced onto him. Claude had been prepared for that, as a worst case scenario... but he doesn't need to, he thinks.  
  
Dimitri - the real Dimitri, the Dimitri beyond the role of Executioner that the church forced onto him - still exists. He can still be happy, and shy, and caring. He was never destroyed. Just... buried. Those defensive layers can be removed, and he can bloom from the decay that he's been forced to exist in. All Claude has to do... is get him out of here.  
  
Still, there are a lot of things that can't be said while Dimitri is still at the church's mercy. And, well, as much as Claude would like to, there's no time for them to have an indepth talk on their emotions, or the ramifications of what they've done with each other tonight. So, for now.... He opts to change the subject. And how fortunate for them, that they just so happen to have the perfect one available.  
  
"By the way," he says, already grinning at how enjoyable this talk is going to be. "How much did you understand of that whole conversation with Erik earlier? That controller? I know it wasn't in Voali, so I thought you might have missed some of the nuances, and I'd _hate_ for you to be unable to enjoy the full extent of it." When Dimitri looks up, the end of his tail flicking, Claude grins all the wider.   
  
"You humiliated him," Dimitri says, tongue flicking out for a stray bit of egg that hand clung to his mouth.  
  
His eye narrows slowly in clear pleasure even remembering that much, and he picks up one of the stuffed peppers. Taking a bite of it, he pauses in both enjoyment of the memory and enjoyment of the cheesy glory that the pepper is filled with. Claude puts that down on the list of things he wants to get Dimitri again one day; it's becoming quite a long one.  
  
Once he's done enjoying the cheese, his tail stilling from happy little flicks, he looks up at Claude again. "I know deer were involved, and I am not sure why."  
  
Claude winks - smug, confident, and relaxed. "Well, I don't mind offering a translated retelling..." And with that, he launches right into the tale, in a language that Dimitri knows well. He spares no effort in it, able to recall things word for word, and accompanying all of it with sweeping gestures or mocking exaggerated tones.  
  
He talks about how he had trapped Erik with humiliating lies that the other man had to pretend were true because Claude framed the actual truth as far more mortifying. He talks about how he had encouraged Dorothy to be respectful even to things that can't speak, and all the moreso to things that can. How Claude called Erik all but incompetent, right to his face, and stupid too, and got away with it by couching it in careful words and diplomacy and potentially innocent misunderstandings.  
  
Whether through the story or Claude's retelling or Dimitri's own personal investment in it all, the voa seems quite comfortably enraptured. As Claude speaks, he begins to sink down against the ground into a comfortable lounge, and almost seems to forget to eat occasionally despite how good the food must smell to him. He bites back laughter, and bares his teeth in delight, and he looks truly beautiful, even with his condition and everything he's surrounded with.  
  
By the time Claude finishes, Dimitri seems as though he might ooze right through the ground in satisfaction. "He deserves that and a bit more," he says, cleaning his fingers off again, but this time of egg instead of semen. "I've never liked him. He'd be missing an arm if not for how I am restrained."  
  
Claude chuckles; he's not particularly surprised to hear that desire coming from Dimitri. With all his connections and how much talking he's done with various people in both the church and the broader area of the city itself, he's heard more than enough about about how certain guards and controllers have earned Dimitri's ire. He doesn't have a lot of pity for them. But still...   
  
"Just don't get yourself in too much trouble, alright? The last thing I want is to show up here some night and they've moved you to a more secure cell, or they decide you're too much trouble and get a new executioner." Claude's eyes darken for a moment. Those aren't things that have happened particularly often, as far as he's read about... but there are records that they _did_ , at one point or another. "If we can't improve your situation in any other way... then at least I want to be able to keep having this."  
  
Mostly, he's saying this to encourage Dimitri to keep behaving himself, for just a little while longer. Claude thinks he can get his plan to get Dimitri free finalized soon - maybe a month or two at the latest as he gathers information ahead of time and allows people to fall into place exactly where he needs them.  
  
There are a few things he needs to get on hand as well: preparing a space where he and Dimitri can duck to instead of being constantly on the run, even if only for a little while, along with all the money he's saved up for so long... Various things of that nature.  
  
But with his nose to the grindstone... He plans to get all of this finished as quickly as possible. And gods know that he wasn't lacking in motivation before.  
  
There's no response from Dimitri, not right away. He simply stares off into the rest of the courtyard, gaze distant. Normally, he's always such an open book. Sure, the book is full of anger and confusion and pain, but it is an open one all the same.  
  
Right now, however... Claude can't tell what's going through his mind. He lets him have this moment to himself. To pass the time, Claude pushes himself up to his feet, and grabs the bucket of now dirtied water. He needs to empty it, and clean it out thoroughly, too, so that there's not a trace of what he's done.  
  
Yet he won't leave Dimitri alone on only that note... and he's glad when he makes the choice to walk back to Dimitri's cell. As he does so, Dimitri wearily pushes himself up. "They've kept me alive this far," he says quietly, his claws curling against the ground. "And I cannot promise anything. But..." His tail sweeps across the ground in a wide arc, restless. "...I shall be here."  
  
When he says things like that... Claude crouches down before the bars. "Come here a sec, Dimitri."  
  
Dimitri blinks at him. "I thought you were going to take your leave," he murmurs, although he still obliges as he moves around what's left of the food until he's right before Claude.  
  
"I am," Claude agrees simply enough. "But there's something I want to do first." Maybe something he's wanted to do for a while, now, and that's only grown all the stronger as the two of them have gone through this whole mess of a nightmare together. So he reaches through the bars, standing as high as he can on one knee, and hooks one hand around the back of Dimitri's neck. It doesn't take much, with Dimitri giving him free rein, for him to pull his friend closer until his muzzle is pressed inbetween the bars again... and Claude can kiss him.  
  
It's not a particularly easy thing to do; he can only kiss Dimitri so well with situational limitations being what they are. So it can't be long, and it can't be deep... but it's still a kiss. Claude pulls away, heart fluttering again even as he takes in the look on Dimitri's face. Despite the fact that they had both gone much farther than a kiss only a little while ago, he still can't help but wait anxiously for Dimitri's reaction.  
  
At least it's not negative. Claude can say that much as he takes in that wide eyed expression on Dimitri's face, the way his mouth has dropped open just a little bit. Even as he wildly beats off the most negative thoughts, Claude feels his heart clench.... until Dimitri reaches up, and lays his large hand over Claude's.  
  
There's so much that's uncertain - their future as a whole, their future together. Claude still manages to smile, because at least, in this moment, Dimitri wants him. That's the most he can ask for.  
  
Still, he can only stay for so long, and Claude begins to rise to his feet. "I'll visit again tomorrow night," he tells Dimitri, while he still has his friend's attention all on him and nothing else. "But that'll be the last night that I'll be able to come in a while. With autumn coming, they're really putting me to work, and so I'm going to be taking trips out of the monastery. I might be able to stop by now and then... But unfortunately not for long."  
  
Dimitri snaps out of it then, brow furrowing and gaze going distant the same way that he had when Claude had told him to take care and not get into trouble. Gently, his hand squeezes down around Claude's. "...But you will come."  
  
"I will come," Claude promises softly. "And when all of my business is finished with... I promise to bring you a better treat than anything else you've ever had when I come back."  
  
That's all Dimitri needs, apparently. His hand squeezes down a little more once again, and then, gently, with care for where his claws are positioned, slides his hand away. Such a soft touch, both of them reaching out together, and that look on his face - it makes Claude want to stay, but he can't. He forces himself to turn back to the hallway, and take his leave properly.  
  
After all, he has a lot of emotions and thoughts to sort through.... And he has pants that need a little bit of mending.  
  
Fixing his pants is a simple matter, honestly. Claude may never make it in his life as an expert tailor tending to royalty, but he knows enough, like most people that work under the church and only have themselves to rely on. Certainly he knows enough to take care of a few simple pinpricks in his pants so that they don't widen into bigger holes later on down the line. In a way, it's almost soothing to fall into the simple rhythm of stitching.  
  
That's good. Claude doesn't have to think too hard on what his hands are doing. Instead, he thinks back to everything else - the way that Dimitri had slowly approached him like he was something delicious to be devoured, those enormous hands settling so soundly along his neck, and -  
  
_Does it matter?_  
  
He presses down a little too hard, pricks himself. Almost doesn't notice.  
  
_I want you. All of you._  
  
Another prick. His heart is speeding up again, frantic and anxious and longing. Shaking just a little bit now that he can go over those words away from anything and anyone else, Claude puts the needle to the side.  
  
His heart can't stop throbbing, and the sensations from only a little while ago keep flooding his mind: Dimitri's hand holding him close, the heat of his breath against his bared throat, and those words - words that Dimitri had bothered to say, words meant to actually reassure him, emphasizing that he wanted _Claude_ and not one part of his anatomy-  
  
Claude presses a hand over his heart, and doesn't stop thinking of those words all throughout the night. Words that he's wanted to hear for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James, during the original roleplay: man i just really want to write out smut, and i just thought of Dimitri having a wet dream, and the two of them getting each other off through the bars  
> Callie, indulging me as always: alright we can do that after we wrap up this scene 
> 
> and that's why there's smut
> 
> I don't know WHY my brain latched onto that very specific imagery, but it did, ha ha. And that's why we're here! 
> 
> Anyway, I'm delighted to show you all the first of Rose's contribution to this fic, which is just SO lovely. I highly encourage you to check out her tweet with this picture, so that you can get a nice high definition look at it. When I saw the first hint of it, I just about died. The night time shading is so lovely, and the way she drew Dimitri's face - the eyelashes especially - is just so delicate and amazing. I don't have words for it. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist/status/1373337679014862850?s=20
> 
> Anyway this is where the monsterfucker in me jumped out lmao, and I really did enjoy writing about all the little things, like the way Dimitri's claws catched on Claude's clothes occasionally, or how effortlessly he could lift him up with even just one hand... I am but a simple soul.
> 
> Lyrics for this chapter: 
> 
> "I wanna drown in your holy water  
> You know a sin never felt so good"


	8. One Foot in Front of the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spurred on by recent events, Claude has a lot of work to do, and a lot of feelings to go through. In his absence, Dimitri slowly experiences some minor little changes of his own.

As with most things, it starts out with a bit of idle curiosity - something that always does him in when he's good and far from the city.   
  
And Claude does so _love_ when he has an excuse to be far away from that place. It allows him to see his friends, of course. It _also_ allows him to see other people and cultures that wouldn't be caught anything but dead so far up north to where his particular branch of the church has firmly established itself. He adores the port towns and cities especially, even when they're not particularly huge ones. That is where all the interesting things happen, people from far off places dropping by all the time.  
  
It starts because he arrives a day earlier. With some time to kill, well, it would be a waste if he just spent it lazing about in the cheap inn room he gets. He's checking in on the littler known stalls and shops, not wanting to get caught up in something too big, when he sees it: a voa in pretty purple clothing hurrying off down a _different_ side alley, away from one tented up stall _just_ far enough to be off the main market thoroughfare. They hold an excessively wrapped package close to their chest, and they're gone in the blink of an eye. Every single step just _radiates_ embarrassment, and the need to not be caught.   
  
Fortunately for them, Claude has no interest in chasing after and interrogating some poor lost soul. Not yet, anyway, and only if he can't figure anything else out. There's still the most obvious solution... and it's not a bad route to choose, honestly. So he makes his way over to the tent and, with no shame, acting as though he's fully confident in what he's there for, he steps in.  
  
And it becomes _incredibly_ clear with a single step why this particular stall is shrouded with a tent.  
  
There are sex toys. Small hammocks have been set up for maximum ease of packing and traveling. Upon those stretched out cloth shelves lay a variety of nicely made dildos in a variety of materials and a variety of shapes. Behind a small table is another voa, horns shaved short and their trimmed nails in the middle of sorting out money. He can't exactly tell if she's staring at him or not as he enters, but her fingers certainly pause in their task.  
  
Claude doesn't let any of it phase him. At least, he doesn't let it show on his face. Instead, he smiles over at her and gives a polite nod in greeting before he starts to browse.  
  
Sometimes, he really does have to appreciate the horniness of the world. Whether it's in humans, voa, or anything else, horniness certainly draws out the imagination and skill of others. That much is apparent as he looks over the many different kinds of dildos that are there on display. There's a variety of humans ones that probably hit the entire gauntlet of length and thickness, which is impressive, honestly.   
  
After all, one would naturally assume that most races would stick to sex toys most relevant to their own experiences, and similar to _actual_ sex. Still, he seems to have come across quite the ambitious type... While a lot of effort and no doubt fascinating lines of inquiry have to go into making a variety like this, including humans, it means that she's guaranteed to get more customers as well since she's appealing to even broader groups.  
  
That's fine and all... but while Claude can respect the effort and craftsmanship, he's far more interested in something else, and he quickly moves away from that particular selection to something a bit more relevant to a voa merchant. Some of the dildos for _voa_ cocks are without the knot, and he takes them in, understanding of people who might not want to shove the whole knot in there but still like that particular shape. Something occurs to him, and he glances over to the merchant with a smile. "Is it alright if I handle the merchandise a little?" he asks, putting on his best pleasant and casual voice.  
  
"If you scratch anything, you buy it," she says, simply and matter of fact. "If you're fine with that, then you can handle whatever you like." She doesn't ask how he knows Voali so well, or strike up conversation because of it. Well, merchants like that are at least easy to deal with. Claude certainly has no complaints, so he smiles at her and picks up one of the toys that he was looking at.  
  
It's made really smoothly.... And a little cool to his touch, thanks to being made of glass. Whoever her artist is that makes such fine toys, he really wants to give his compliments in person. Now that he's become quite intimate with a voa penis himself, he can tell that this is surprisingly accurate. There even seems to be a slight indentation at the very tip. That, more than anything, makes him wonder just what kind of "research" the artist has done.  
  
Still, while it's tempting and Claude has no fears of it breaking inside of him, it's no doubt quite expensive even on a sex toy scale, and he _is_ perhaps a little worried about it breaking during his travels. Besides, it's missing one very important feature that he wouldn't go without. Honestly, it's kind of surprising how badly Claude wants a knot inside of him... but he _is_ going to make it happen, one day. It's just a matter of how soon he can get Dimitri out...  
  
So he moves on from that particular toy and glances over the ones that explicitly have knots - both to help keep the toy from slipping inside and being lost forever, and also simply just for pleasure. After all, if _he_ likes it, then there's absolutely no doubt that other voa adore that feeling too.  
  
And he has to admire the selection, forcefully done with all sorts of material. There's stone on the very bottom 'shelves' which make up the ground, while others are made of leather, and once again there's glass, or even wood that has been carefully lacquered or embedded with symbols to help avoid any splinters. They all have their advantages and disadvantages, and Claude is thinking carefully over them when he comes across something entirely different.   
  
Immediately, he whistles and holds the toy up. It's a completely different material than most anything he's felt in his life, firm but soft in texture, and it has a lot more bend than most of the other options without being like the leather toy. "This is rubber, isn't it?" he asks the merchant, starting up a conversation again whether she likes it or not. Still, this is something too good to just gloss over. "I didn't think you'd be able to get such a material for us here!"  
  
Something like that might not be meant for a lot of little towns, much like how gas lamps are now being used in a variety of places, although it's been very slowly trickling over to the church's city. (With no small amount of help from Claude, he'll shamelessly admit, along with other things like better bathes being experimentally used in certain places.) He's heard it can be used for all sorts of things, especially as factories are starting to come into slow existence in some of the bigger cities... but a sex toy? That's a new one. And now that he's looking, there are a few other things that aren't wood or glass or anything else...  
  
In a way that's almost kind of silly, Claude feels his heart swell at the ingenuity of people. Sex and food - the two categories they try to fit a new thing into at first glance. It says something about people as a whole, whether human or voa or otherwise. He's just not entirely sure what, only that it's incredibly charming to him.  
  
And the merchant seems to be quite pleased too, swelling up in turn with pride. "I have quite the resources and connections at hand," she says, flicking her ponytail with her fingertips. "Every single item I have is nothing but the best quality, guaranteed. That includes some of the newer products, although those will cost substantially more, considering."  
  
Trust a merchant to have profits on the line... Although in this case, Claude can't say this is particularly unwarranted. This sort of thing can't be cheap... These sources of hers have to be impressive. Claude makes a note to get more information out of her later on.  
  
For now, he looks carefully over the new toys and taps his hip. Before, he would have gone with a simple wooden dildo, and hidden it away carefully. But any of these other ones... Ugh. It's so hard holding back, sometimes. His curiosity is going to be the death of him, and not in the way he ever imagined it would be.  
  
It's the knowledge that Dimitri is going to be relying on his funds that holds Claude back from going too wild, and instead he decides on a toy that's the closest to being Dimitri's size that it can possibly get... although he suspects, going through his memories, that it's still nowhere near the size of the real deal. He approaches the merchant with a smile and the dildo in hand. "You know, you really arrived in town just when I needed you," he says, casual and cheerful as usual, like he knew she would be popping in. "I thought you wouldn't make it, actually."  
  
Now that it's clear that he's going to be an actual paying customer instead of some random person who wandered in to gawk at fake penises, the merchant seems to cheer up a great deal, and she smiles at him. "Oh? Well, you don't have to worry about me showing up too late. I have a schedule to keep, and it wouldn't do to keep my regular and loyal customers in a lurch! Although you seem to be a new face..." And then, faking a sort of almost absentmindedness, she gives him the price. It's... not a particularly cheap one, but that hopefully means he's getting some quality, as she said.  
  
There's no use complaining about it, and he'd rather not push in some haggling right away. The more he gets to know her... Going through his coin purse, Claude chuckles. "A friend of mine usually sends someone down on his behalf, but he wasn't going to be in town when you did.... It was bothering him quite a bit! So I told Lorenz that I would do him a favor- Oh." He laughs, feigning sheepishness. "Slip of the tongue. Keep it between us?" And he passes over the money.  
  
It's debatable how much the merchant really cares about that sort of thing, idle gossip and the like, but she's more than happy to accept his coin. "It happens!" she says cheerfully. "I'll come around next year, although you may see me in the next town over in perhaps a months time. It doesn't do to keep still feet, in my line of work."  
  
Oh, doesn't Claude know it. But he doesn't waste too much of her time with idle chatter. For merchants like this, who sell things that would get a disapproving stare by more than a few people, including those of the church, they can't afford to simply hang around and draw too much attention to themselves. Spending time with small talk counts as something that would draw attention, and she's already pretty bold with how she's displaying things in the first place... So he bids her a good day and, with his own purchase tucked away carefully in cloth of its own, Claude quickly makes his way back to the inn he's staying at.  
  
It wasn't just for curiosity that he bought the toy in the first place, after all. If he wants to be properly prepared for Dimitri... He's going to have to _practice_.  
  
  
  
  
  
There's never been much reason for Dimitri to stay awake during the daytime, with the sole exception being food.  
  
Not counting Claude's contributions to his life, he normally gets two meals: one early in the morning, when the sky is only first starting to become lighter with the rays of the sun, and a second one in the late afternoon, apparently when the humans are preparing their own meals for the night. Dimitri had always thought the monastery to grow quieter, in the hours after he had been fed, but he had never quite known why until Claude had told him.  
  
That's usually where Dimitri has timed his sleep schedule: going to sleep shortly after his morning meal, and rousing himself for his afternoon one, so long as nothing else interferes with either of those. Sometimes, when Claude has had reason to visit him a good few nights in a row, he takes short naps after his afternoon meal. No one seems to much mind, or care. Why would they? Executions are held at night, blood brilliant against a combination of magic light and the dawn sun as it drifts back out of sight. It's _better_ for them if he is a nocturnal creature.  
  
Sure, sometimes he stays awake a little longer... but only occasionally, at the sound of hard training or a loud argument that echoes from the open hallway. Unless his scum controllers truly go above and beyond their horrendous cruelty, they have little reason to bother him.  
  
That is what he thinks the morning after Claude leaves, even as that one girl from before hesitates in the hallway leading out into the courtyard.  
  
The only reason Dimitri pays her any mind is because the courtyard is often empty in the morning; movement draws his eye naturally. Before, when she had come with the controller Erik, he had thought little of her. If it had been up to _him_ , he would have ignored both of them quite soundly, but that clearly not gone according to plan, and Erik had thus taken up all of his attention. In the aftermath, he'd still not cared, only wanting to finish his food in peace.  
  
Now that he has time... Ignoring the lag of his mind as it yearns for sleep, he stares over at her nervous form and takes her in properly. In his memories of the incident, he thinks of her as a child standing alongside Erik. That... is actually not true. She is slight, and there is a roundness to her face, and she's a bit short... but she is likely a little older than he had initially guessed, especially with the beginnings of muscle starting to form along her arms, although he can only tell so much when she is so far away.  
  
Maybe that is the reason he had dismissed her as younger, Dimitri muses while the girl in question mutters things to herself in Fodlish that he doesn't bother to listen to. From the moment she had first walked onto the courtyard with Erik, to when she had scurried away, her nervous and introverted nature had been the most notable thing about her. Such a mouse of a person...  
  
Rapid footsteps snap him out of his own thoughts, and Dimitri refocuses on the girl - Dorothy. The tray in her hand is full of the same food that he always gets, without fail, every single day: stew that's long since grown cold, filled with food he used to not be able to even taste, and stale bread that he always has to soak so that it is easier to eat. He can see it even before she's anywhere near his cage, and he eyes it with no particular pleasure. Even though Claude has been away more than a few times since they reunited, made busy by the jobs he must do for the church, Dimitri always longs for his return particularly hard the first day of his latest absence. The food is a part of that.  
  
Claude himself is most of it.  
  
" _He isn't even looking at me... Is this even okay? It's only one, so I thought it might be fine if it was for something like this..._ " Dimitri blinks, and his ears twitch. Now that she's come closer, it's impossible for him to wholly ignore her or her mutterings. A human probably wouldn't hear it, but the courtyard is quiet, and Dimitri's ears are sharp.  
  
Frowning, he realizes this is an excellent opportunity. While he doesn't understand exactly what she's saying, hastily thinking back to the foreign words she just said in his best attempt to, that's exactly what he _should_ be learning. If Claude cannot be here all the time, then he at least can listen to other people and figure out their words, can't he?  
  
While he's thinking this over, Dorothy stops in front of him and stares. Dimitri stares back. Patiently, he waits for her to say something, since she's apparently so talkative despite her skittish demeanor. He's rewarded by this patience as she takes a breath, and speaks up again - but not just to herself. Instead, it... _almost_ sounds like how Claude talks, which is to say, _to_ Dimitri instead of merely _at_ him.  
  
" _Um.... Good morning. I thought we could make a deal? If I... give you this sausage, then you won't do anything to me like you did to Controller Erik. We can... interact respectfully, like the hunter from before said. I'll make sure to give you space, too...._ "  
  
Dimitri squints, carefully going over the various words in his mind. A lot of them he still has to carefully decipher, and that's going to take a long while... but he can still recognize some of them almost instantly, despite this handicap. In particular, he can recognize the food words. The second he realizes she's talking about a sausage, Dorothy adjusts her grip on the tray and holds up an actual sausage. No wonder he couldn't see it; it had been tucked behind the small loaf of bread.  
  
He can roughly understand the first sentence she'd spoken... And not enough to make sense of the second, nor the fourth. It's just a little too much. But the third? He thinks he can understand that much, at least... Something about the sausage and Erik. Is she trying to make a deal? Dimitri cocks his head to the side. While he could speak, he doesn't particularly want to. Not a human outside of Claude. The last time he tried to do that....  
  
Long ago as it might have been, he can still recall the way his body had ached from the beatings.  
  
At least it doesn't seem like Dorothy needs much more than his attention. All she needs is even a scrap of it, something to show he's paying mind, and she reacts. At least, that's what Dimitri thinks is going through her head, because she hastily places the tray (sausage included) down on the floor and takes the long stick from her back so that she can push it down through the small slot that all his food comes in.  
  
Well... Whether he's understood her correctly or not, he certainly has the sausage now. Dimitri isn't going to let something like that go to waste. Reaching over, he tugs the tray closer to him. Once he does so, Dorothy's shoulders immediately slump in relief, and she turns around to hurry back to the exact same spot she stood in when he met her that first day, when Claude spoke to her. Whatever makes her comfortable. It's none of Dimitri's business, quite frankly.  
  
All he can do, and all that he is expected to do, is eat his food until his tray is completely cleared. That's it. Nothing more, and nothing less. That same phrasing could be used to describe the food he's given: nothing more and nothing less than what he needs to be powerful in the arena.  
  
At least... That's true for most of the food on his tray. The sausage that Dorothy brought him is a different matter entirely, and Dimitri saves that for the very last. It's... not too different from some of the sausages Claude has brought him in the past. He realizes that when he takes his first bite, and the juices spread along his tongue.  
  
Something in his heart pangs a little. This is the kind of taste... he associates with Claude. With seeing Claude, and hearing his voice, and breathing in his scent that's so full of greenery and sweat and comfort. He should be eating this... with Claude. Not alone, in the harsh light of the sun instead of under the welcoming moon and stars that he's come to actually care about for the first time in so many years.  
  
It's stupid. It doesn't make sense. Saying that doesn't make Dimitri's heart ease in its aching, however. It _also_ doesn't do anything for his stomach, and so he has to put his heart to rest in order to finish off his meal. If he doesn't, well.... Things become difficult when he refuses to eat, and he knows that the church keeps a close eye on things such as this. He's not sure if Dorothy would let slip such a thing when he's pretty sure the sausage was her idea instead of someone else's... but better safe than sorry.  
  
When he finishes, curling up a short distance away from the tray, Dorothy once again trots over. The long hooked stick is put to use, tugging the tray back to her side of the bars. Ears twitching, he can hear a bit of hesitance in her footsteps... but, as with most controllers or their apprentices, he only keeps his back turned to her. There's nothing else he can contribute anyway.  
  
Still, it's a strange sort of relief when he finally hears her steps heading off towards the hallway again, where their frantic nature echoes against the stone. He supposes he'll have to deal with her often, now, if she's even being sent to feed him so that she can adjust to his presence... Well. Beyond that, he supposes it's not much his problem.  
  
Dimitri closes his eye, and drifts off to sleep.  
  
As the days pass, Dimitri starts to learn more about Dorothy whether he likes it or not. She is sent to feed him for each of his meals in the day, no doubt to build her resilience to the appearance of a monster such as himself. If she is to be a controller one day, like Claude told him, then she cannot afford to flinch and scurry away whenever he so much as looks at her. With that in mind, he takes note of her actions, her words, and does his best to learn from all of it.  
  
Language is the easiest thing to learn from Dorothy. For whatever reason, she talks often - to him sometimes when she brings the tray of food, and no one else is about. More oftentimes she seems to speak to no one in particular. If there's people in the courtyard, she doesn't even do that much.  
  
If Dimitri had to guess, he supposes it's because she's been reprimanded in the past about it.... or something along those lines. However, it works for his purposes perfectly; why should he complain at all her muttering and murmuring? If anything, he goes even quieter when she shows up with his food, so that he can listen to her words better in order to figure them out later on.  
  
He's not doing anything special. Frankly, he's hardly paying her any mind. And yet as the days pass, the tension in her shoulders seems to ease away, and her brow doesn't become so tightly wound. She watches him eat, murmuring things to herself that Dimitri can only partially understand, and walks a little less frantically when she goes to retrieve his tray. A great many thoughts seem to churn behind those eyes of hers, although they are things that he knows nothing about. That is the nature of being individuals: there is always a certain degree of mystery that separates people from one another as much as their physical bodies.  
  
And then, eventually, she stops hanging back at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
Claude's very first lesson when he uses his new toy is that he cannot walk or ride for shit the immediate day after. At least, if he were a sensible person, and one who had more options available to him, he would not.  
  
Claude thought he could handle it. He's had sex before, after all - his own personal little bit of rebellion against the church and that ultimately hurts no one despite what some of the higher ups preach. (Claude knows better than to think a lot of them even remotely _believe_ a lot of it.) That includes the ache of rough sex, or taking in something large.  
  
But knots... Knots are something else entirely, even if they're only fake things instead or the real deal. Knots stretch him in a way he's never been stretched before, fill him up and hit his prostate enough to make him see stars.  
  
Needless to say.... At the time, it had felt _unbelievable_. Claude can't bring himself to regret it completely.  
  
Just, you know. Maybe a _little_ , at the very least.  
  
"Wyvern, why am I like this," he groans to his horse, slumped oddly in his seat on the church wagon. Theoretically, he's helping guide it down the road.  
  
It's really not advisable to ride this way, he knows that. There are bumps in the road that might make him fall off right in front of the cart wheels, and he could be jumped by petty thieves or hungry wolves that he needs to pay attention to... And yet, despite all that, the concept of sitting upright, on his own poor abused ass, makes Claude just want to die.  
  
Wyvern looks back at him without pity, because obviously a horse doesn't need to concern itself with whatever nonsense humans get up to. Maybe it's just a little bit of Claude projecting, but the horse almost seems _amused_ at his suffering.  
  
Groaning, Claude tries to adjust his position, and winces a bit. He... has a long road ahead of him. A part of him wonders if he can get away with simply not going back to the city for a day or two, stay in the inn he'd been at before. Maybe blame it on some sort of random difficulty that often pops up for travelers on the road.  
  
In the end... He decides not to do that. He continues on, guiding the horses down the roads with little fuss. Still, if there is one good thing to all of this, it's that he has to occasionally stop and set up camp. Not all towns or villages can be reached within a simple day's ride, after all.  
  
So when it starts to become dark enough yet still with enough light, Claude guides the wagon to the side carefully out of sight and sets up camp. It takes a bit of time, so that he can be confident in where they're resting for the night, and a lot of that time takes into account his limping.... but Claude has experience. It's hardly more trouble than it usually is.  
  
Wyvern and the other horse, the one that belongs to the church instead of him, seem content to settle in as well. As he waits for his dinner to roast over the fire, food bought from the town instead of hunted by himself, Claude looks over them thoughtfully.  
  
It's something he's been thinking about for a while... but he really does need to get a horse for Dimitri soon. While the two of them could make their way on foot, that would take far too long. They can't afford that kind of thing when they're immediately on the run from the church. They'll need to move as quickly as possible to get off of those lands.  
  
The problem, of course, is that he's going to need a very specific kind of horse in order for Dimitri to ride it. There's no way that it can be a slender breed of any sort, not with how big Dimitri himself is. Additionally, he'll need a horse that's used to the presence of a voa. They're a large people, with the kind of features that would send the average horse into a nervous state: sharp teeth, enormous size, and sharp claws. Everything about them screams predator, which is kind of funny when one knows about their cultural reputation as philosophers and all around nerds.  
  
That means he's going to have to either find a reputable breeder or seller that's taken the time to train horses around voa so that they're not such an unknown, which is easier said than done. A lot of human sellers might say that sort of thing simply to make a deal - all's fair in capitalism after all. So it would be best if he could find a voa breeder... which is _also_ easier said than done. So far, he hasn't found anyone who fits the bill just yet...  
  
With only so much time, Claude stretches out alongside his campfire for light and warmth both as he drags his pack over to himself. His map is one of the most detailed in the land without going to the kind of professionals who charge an arm and a leg; that much he can boast. Tracing his fingers over the map, Claude considers where he's gone, and where he'll be going in the future.  
  
All he needs to do is make excuses for any other stop he makes... And so long as his timing is good, he has confidence in his ability to do his job on time. Even if he doesn't, a single slip up here or there shouldn't matter much. He can't rely on his so far good reputation to act out too much.  
  
He's not a _priest_.  
  
After a bit of thinking, mentally crossing out towns he's already been in and considering towns he knows or are likely to have a decent voa population, Claude makes a couple of choices. He can't veer too much off the path, but this... should be good enough.  
  
It's a good activity, one that lets him waste plenty of the night away before his eyelids begin to droop with exhaustion. Even if they're not the most impressive things in the world, he has blankets that do a fine job of letting him sleep warmly and soundly. They'll do an equally fine job of dealing with his poor roughed up ass.  
  
So with all of that in consideration... He should be able to fall asleep pretty quickly. That's the logical progression of things. And yet as he sits there, almost halfway as warm as he would prefer in any setting, sleep doesn't come to Claude's mind so quickly. Instead, he's left laying there in the wagon, just barely able to see the stars that shine high above.  
  
He doesn't regret buying that toy from the merchant, in any way whatsoever. He doesn't feel bad about getting it even with whatever is now between him and Dimitri, and he's accepted the state of his ass that has required him to ride so gingerly this entire time. But... Something tentative still winds around his heart regardless, and he lets out a puff of air. This far south and in this weather, it doesn't become a cloud of fog, not yet. He can at least be thankful for that even if his heart is acting like this.  
  
Honestly... A part of him wonders if he's jumped the bow, just a little. Him and Dimitri have been growing closer all this time, and he's glad for that. He really is. It's a sign that Dimitri can allow himself to grow closer to other people still, that he can be happy. Claude would have accepted it from anyone, of course, it's just that he's the only person that he knows of who bothers to reach out to Dimitri. But... maybe that's the issue.  
  
When he'd bought that toy, it had been with the assumption that he and Dimitri would have sex with one another inevitably - sometime after Claude had freed Dimitri and with no better idea of the time than that. But.... He doesn't know that for certain.  
  
Claude has to admit that. Dimitri has grown to like him, they've jerked each other off - but that's not a guarantee of anything in the future. Not even remotely. There's... a non-zero chance that Dimitri decides he doesn't have _that_ kind of interest in Claude. He could like someone else, once he gets a chance to meet other people who see him as an individual instead of a weapon. Maybe he doesn't like other people at all, and simply was overwhelmed by his first sexual encounter.  
  
There's just... Claude squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowed tight. There's a lot that could change, once Dimitri is free. He's known that for a while, he really has. It is, arguably, a good thing. It's _absolutely_ a good thing. Dimitri deserves to have that choice, the ability, the _freedom_ , to talk to whoever he likes, and not expect immediate punishment as a result. He thought he was prepared for that... It's never hurt this much before.  
  
Then again, he'd never really thought that he'd have a chance before.  
  
Claude wipes his hand over his face, fingers catching at his skin a little. He's being stupid, and, if he's not being stupid, then he's being selfish. Dimitri deserves _so much_ to make up for what is a lifetime of pain and suffering and being used like nothing more than a weapon. He can't hold his old friend back just because he'd come to six simple words - both when Dimitri had been holding him close, claws on his neck, hand on his cock, and when Claude had tested the toy not that long ago on himself, thinking of Dimitri alone.  
  
It's impossible for him to say when he gets to sleep, only that it claims him eventually. He wakes up feeling marginally better in certain lower areas of his anatomy. Riding on the wagon is still not exactly a _pleasant_ experience, but it's a lot more manageable than the day before. The roads and sky alike are clear. His horses seem in perfectly good shape.  
  
Claude lets little things like that comfort him, all the way to the next town he stops in for a short while. There's a small voa population here as well, although they're well within the minority in terms of population size... but they seem to get along well enough with the rest of the town, something he observes as he's letting the horses take a rest and get a drink.  
  
For the most part, the fur colors seem the same: a sort of pale brown that almost looks gray if viewed in the light one way or the other. It's the same for every single one he happens to spot, as he gets food he can't hunt for this stretch of his journey or talks with the locals. Maybe it was a small group from a particular island in Devan-Voa that first came here some time ago, and the color has been predominant ever since. Things like this often have a story behind them, even if it's just a series of them, interconnected and leading up to this present now.  
  
It's when he's on the outskirts of town, pausing only to buy a small bag of miscellaneous nuts from some children who'd gone scavenging in the forest early in the morning, that he sees something that makes him think of the previous night's thoughts. It's a pair of voa, hornless, holding each other's hands, shoulders bumping, and hurrying back into the town's borders. The children teasingly yell at them, the usual "ooOOH THEY WERE KISSING" sort of thing that children seem to love teasing their elder peers about. The pair yell back at them to shush... but they don't let go of each other's hands.  
  
Claude smiles, and he chuckles, and he thinks about it as he returns to the road again where it's only him and the horses once again. That might be another consideration for when he breaks Dimitri free... He might not want to even look at humans for a long time, because of what they did to him. Claude can understand that, even if he still hopes that he can at least keep Dimtiri from continuing a cycle of harm against anyone else. If he wants to go back to his homeland, to live amongst other voa... He might fall in love with another voa instead.  
  
What would be worse, he wonders: to be cut off from Dimitri completely, or still allowed as his friend, but while watching him fall in love with another person?  
  
_I want you. All of you._  
  
No one else has ever said that before. No one has accepted every little bit of him, _wanted_ every little bit of them. How could they have even gotten the chance to know? Claude knows that he's never let it be there on the table. With his kind of life... That would be far too risky. He has secrets upon secrets... even if they're only things he's simply never spoken about instead of making them an outright lie. The only person he's ever been honest with... That's Dimitri.  
  
But he's not entitled to that. Claude reminds himself of that, that he'll step to the side if that's what Dimitri needs to be happy. He has a lot of plans, and backup plans to each of those plans. Who knows? Maybe it would be better for Dimitri if Claude stepped away. The road he plans on traversing - the wider road of life and not the road he guides his horses along right now - is one that's not going to be easy. Dragging Dimitri into that... it could be too much.  
  
Claude tries to tell himself all of this... even if his heart aches for the idea that Dimitri could stay with him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The day that Dorothy stops running off while he eats, instead opting to stand there right before his cage, all Dimitri can bother to do is raise a brow at her. It's a strange turn of events, certainly. There's no reason, as far as he can tell, that would have her want to be so close to a demon, a monster. Yet there she stands, her hands clasped in front of her as she waits, and her lips sucked in.  
  
Well. She is by far the least annoying so far of those who come to feed him, besides people sent for the task as a punishment. Dimitri ignores her and eats the usual stew. Once again, as is now becoming standard, there is a small sausage alongside the bread. It's honestly a bit strange, that she would keep it up for so long... but perhaps that is a part of the arrangement that she has so one-sidedly made. Or is it really that one sided when he hasn't bothered to correct her?  
  
Maybe it's an arrangement _he's_ one sidedly decided on, actually. As he eats, Dorothy continues to murmur to herself. After a good while now of this happening between them, he's learned to recognize what she's talking about, even when he doesn't entirely understand all the words. There are three different ways she speaks: when she's talking purely to herself, when she's narrating what he's doing (which may be the same as the first), and when she's talking directly to him.  
  
Dimitri doesn't understand why she does it... but it works out for him and so he doesn't stop her habit, or whatever changes she's decided to undertake. So he listens, and he eats, and he places his bowl down on the tray when he's done. With how close she is, there's no need to toss it or make a fuss. She really is a skittish type, however... She almost seems to bloom in relief from the lack of sharp noise, and takes the tray back quickly.  
  
The next day, and she does very much the same. There's the sausage, and there's her daring to stay near to his cage. Is this going to be a new part of their routine as well? Is this something she's been told to do as a part of her executioner training, or something that she decided to do for herself? Dimitri isn't entirely sure. All he does is pick up his bread again, and listen to her.  
  
" _Oh good... He's eating again. The sausage might have been a good idea after all...? I could only copy what the guards do with some of their hounds... I guess I'm only good for that much. At least it's working. Maybe if that hunter from before will come back. If I could ask him some questions... but maybe he's far too busy... No, he must be far too busy for someone as plain as me who's not even a proper adult..._ "  
  
Dimitri once again stores all the strange words he does not know inside of his head. In the midst of remembering them, however, he can't help but perk up. For all his inexperience, after all, there are still _some_ words he understands... and he knows that Claude is a hunter, along with many other things. She has to be talking about him, then... Because who else that is a hunter would she be talking about?  
  
It is an action that does not wholly go unnoticed, and Dorothy stares at him. " _Do you remember him?_ " she asks hesitantly, clearly not expecting an actual answer. Dimitri hasn't bothered to answer her before, after all, whether in Fodlish or in Voali. Yet that has been how these things have gone on for the two of them ever since Dorothy was assigned as the person to feed him regularly, and she doesn't seem to expect much, as evidenced by the way she continues on. " _He said his name was Claude... I've listened to the elder controllers talk about him before. Controller Narcian seems to like him a bit... I think that's why Controller Erik has been so wary about complaining about him before._ "  
  
Erik and Narcian... Too names that are as unpleasant as they are familiar. Dimitri snorts, hoping his disdain is thick enough in the sound for there to be no doubt on his feelings regarding them, and most of their ilk. Erik has always been amongst the worst of them all, in his opinion, too much a coward that finds comfort in lording power over someone else. Yet that doesn't mean he's oblivious to how Narcian is the one often directing those beneath him... and who doesn't stop any of the abuse leveled his way. It is unfortunate that killing any of them would ruin his plans to get someone more important.  
  
Dorothy pauses at his response, nervously looking over her shoulder to the open hallway as though checking to make sure that he wasn't overheard. He can't see why she would be bothered; this is by far not the first time that he's ever expressed disdain for his handlers. It's not even the worst he's been able to do, with Erik as a testament to that. Dimitri is content to chalk it up to her constant nerves and shyness, until she looks back to him with an uncertain twist of her lips.  
  
" _The priests.... say that I should respect those above me, completely and utterly... With the kind of person I am, I thought that made sense... It's better for me to listen to people who know more than I do, and I would say that's a lot. But when Claude talked about respecting animals and other things... That made sense. It made more sense and wasn't as frightening as what Controller Erik would tell me. I wonder if maybe that means I'm better suited to be a hunter..._ "  
  
She's saying a lot of things he doesn't understand again... Well. That's frustrating. Dimitri wonders if he can write them out phonetically in some abandoned corner of his cage. At this rate, the list of words she says is starting to become more than he can remember, and thus more than he can repeat to Claude later on so that he can learn them. Granted, some might still come into his cage for various reasons... but he doesn't think any of them would think of Voali as anything more than simple scribbles in the dirt that mean nothing.  
  
For the time being, Dimitri focuses on what he _does_ understand, which is only so much. She's talking about herself as a person - he doesn't know what in particular - and that she listens to people, he thinks. And she mentions Claude... and animals. And hunting. Dimitri finally remembers to pull his stale bread out from the stew, and tears off a bite for himself.  
  
Is she more interested in that? It's what he can assume, although there's still plenty of a chance for him to be wrong there. He understands so little of what she's actually said. He doesn't even know what she's getting out of this, either... He can't give advice, and wouldn't even if he could. Then again, maybe he really is simply something for her to speak at for her own peace of mind...  
  
He can't understand her properly, and she can't understand him at all, so she continues. " _I've hardly ever gone outside the city halls.... So I don't know if I would do well when it comes to hunting. My family used to have a farm where we raised animals - chickens and sheep, mostly. But the chickens kept disappearing... I think my uncle runs it now. They thought me working for the church would help take some of the costs off. I wonder... They're going to be disappointed when it turns out that... I'm more interested in hunting, maybe... Well, interest only means so much..._ "  
  
She goes on like that for quite some time, talking about all manner of things. Dimitri likes it when she talks about animals and food the most, which are two of the things he knows the most about thanks to Claude. By the time he's finished, the tension in her shoulders seems to have dissipated completely, or at least something close to it, and she tugs his tray back again with the pole.  
  
From that day onwards, she does the same thing, stands in the same place so close to his cell, and she talks to him more than simply with him overhearing. Dimitri is still fairly certain that it's simply because he's only a beast, that she has no one and nothing else to talk to about these sorts of things.  
  
It's nothing at all like how Claude talks with him, so careful to make sure he's understood and imparting more knowledge upon Dimitri so that he can understand a world he'll never see. Still, Dimitri... can't say it's bad.  
  
Even if it's not exactly the same, it's similar enough and fills up the otherwise quiet of the courtyard.  
  
Considering the closeness of Dimitri's own mealtimes to that of the humans (if Claude is to be believed), the courtyard doesn't often have many people in it when Dorothy comes with his food. Yet there are still the occasional moments where this regular emptiness is disrupted.  
  
During times like those... Dorothy doesn't say a word, simply stands there right before his cage with her shoulders hunched up to her ears. From what Dimitri observes, most don't bother her during these times... or, rather, maybe her entire being is set on projecting an image of someone doing their best to not be bothered in the first place, someone trying to disappear into the air.  
  
If only Dimitri could do the same, although he knows it's impossible. A creature like him, taller than all of those humans and with bright fur that catches light... It would never happen.  
  
Sometimes those who train stay for the whole time he eats, which only keeps Dorothy standing stiff and awkward before his cage. Times like those, Dimitri finishes quickly, because her anxiety aggravates him as well, and so it's better to see her scurry off in a panic. Fortunately for both of them, that rarely ever happens. More often then not, it's someone who comes to train before the sun ever graces the skies, and they forget the time before hurrying off to get their breakfast upon realization.  
  
If she acts like this around other members of the church, who should be her allies... Dimitri isn't sure if such things say more about her or this place. Frankly, he never sees her pass through the hallway on the opposite side of the courtyard accompanied by anyone else her age, or that she speaks fondly to. Even Dimitri has to admit that, nowadays, he has Claude - a person he can no longer deny that is close to him and that he treasures a great deal, more than his own pathetic life. Does this girl really have no one....?  
  
Fortunately, it turns out that he's simply unaware of the wider world beyond his cage. The girl, Dorothy, has a life of her own besides what Dimitri _thinks_ might be insecurities, although his translation of her words is far from perfect.  
  
He learns this one day as she slides him his meal while her gaze is elsewhere, dazed and lost in her own head. When Dimitri begins to make sound, moving the things around on his try, grabbing food, she snaps out of it.  
  
" _I wonder if Lady Clarine would like to come and see him..._ " Talking to herself again instead of him. It's been a while since she'd indulged that particular aspect of her habit, and Dimitri can't help but be curious at the change. Has something, in turn, changed beyond his cage? Oblivious to his own thoughts, Dorothy carries on muttering. " _Even though she says a lot of things on how a person should conduct themselves... Is it alright if it applies to a demon as well? No, wait... That's not what they call themselves... Isn't it Voa? Does that matter? If someone said I wasn't Dorothy, I don't think I would like that either...._ "  
  
Names, and words, and so many things he doesn't know... but Dimitri immediately jolts upright when she says the name of his people in her mutterings, bread almost dropping from his claws.  
  
Dorothy jolts, too. For a moment, they only stare at each other, and Dimtiri flicks his ears back in wariness. He still doesn't want to say anything explicit to her - doesn't want to say anything at all. But... She had something about 'Voa'. Is she repeating something Claude has said before? Best he can, Dimitri digs through his memories, and tries to untangle meaning from sound.  
  
Dorothy patiently waits, maybe hoping to hear words from him in turn. When he doesn't provide any such thing, she lets out a slow breath. " _So he definitely reacted to that... Is that a good thing? The priest wouldn't like it if I were to use it, but maybe..._ " Her thoughts turn inwards again for a moment, a tide that ebbs and flows so patiently. Dimitri can remember when he used to be able to see the ocean every morning, he and his friends going to see if anything interesting had washed up upon the beach... Dorothy's voice rouses him from memories that are simultaneously faded but brighter, all the brighter from the recent changes in his life. " _Maybe I should ask Lady Clarine... Oh. Do you... know her...?_ "  
  
Out of those words... One is a name, he _thinks_. Claude has mentioned various names to him while he's told him about things happening in the church, and what things he in particular does. Dimitri likes to think that he's slowly started to learn the difference in what sounds like a name and what doesn't... but it's never been something that's really come up before. Claude can talk to him in Voali, after all, and that helps distinguish them apart from the other words.  
  
Still, that doesn't help him really understand much else, like why Dorothy is asking him about this... Lady Clarine. Dimitri raises his bowl up to his mouth and slurps at it, eye narrowed suspiciously at her.  
  
Maybe Dorothy realizes there's an issue here as well, because she pauses. " _No, he won't understand... I don't think Lady Clarine introduced herself to him properly..._ " She looks up at Dimitri again - or down, rather. " _She... She had long hair she had pulled back in a ponytail, like this-_ " Dorothy sweeps her hands back along her short bobbed hair, as though sweeping back much longer strands, and clenches back on the empty hair along the back of her head. " _And.... It's a beautiful golden color, just like your fur._ "  
  
Ah. This he understands a bit better. When he was a child, and Claude was as well, that was one of the first things the two of them taught one another. Claude had dark brown hair, with a single braid. In turn, Dimitri's fur is a beautiful yellow.... or gold, as Claude sometimes called it. So for a human with that kind of hair, pulled back in the way Dorothy is describing to him...  
  
He understands what she means, but he still doesn't bother to answer. Instead, after pausing in his meal to listen, Dimitri takes another swallow of his cold stew, and grabs what's left of the bread again. It doesn't really matter one way or the other if he understands or not... and might be more dangerous if he shows he does. That seems to work out for Dorothy as well... Maybe even she doesn't know what she would do if he responded back to her. All she does is keep her hands held back behind her head a moment longer before she slowly lowers them.  
  
" _Anyway... She really is a good and kind person. She's been trying to help me for a while now, since we first met after you and Controller Erik got treated. Sometimes I think... I can speak to her about things I'm not certain about. She says I need more confidence... and to not be so worried about how I look compared to others. But it's difficult..._ "  
  
So she's been.... helpful since that incident where Dimitri bashed the controller's face in. Dimitri considers that, chewing on his sausage - the last portion of his meal. If she's bringing this Lady Clarine up so much, he hopes that doesn't mean he'll have to deal with even more people around his cage... He can only handle so many humans crowding him at a time, frankly, and he doesn't want a crowd about him every time he eats. Honestly, there's only one person that he really wants to see, more than anything...  
  
As though he's actually been listened to by the guiding hand of fate, for once in his life, he gets good news on that front the very next day, even though it has Dorothy's shoulders slumping. " _The elder controllers have said I have to clean a bunch of rooms all day tomorrow... I wish I had the confidence or ability to say no to them... I overheard from the person in charge of the supply storage that Claude is coming back...!_ "  
  
And Dimitri feels his heart swell with an eager hope.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
While he only has a day to recuperate from his current long journey, Claude doesn't allow his feet to rest on the ground beneath him. Instead, he dares to take a small risk, and goes to visit Dimitri in the one night he's staying in the city. It can't be for as long as he'd like... He does have to get some proper sleep before he sets off on the road again for yet another task of the church's. Still, he can spare, if nothing else, a few minutes.  
  
It's a decision he doesn't regret. Dimitri is already eagerly pacing about his cell by the time he sneaks into the courtyard, and he perks up when Claude makes himself known.  
  
Just like that, all the fears and indecision and uncertainty he'd been feeling before seem to melt away. How could they still stand with the way Dimitri leans towards him so eagerly, the relief that washes over those broad shoulders when Claude still reaches out for him as always? Maybe... He wasn't the only one worried about how different their relationship could be. How different it _is_ , now.  
  
In the short amount of time that he's been gone, Dimitri has picked up a lot of Fodlish words. In fact, he's apparently picked up so many words that he has difficulty recalling them all as he speaks to Claude, although he does his absolute best.  
  
As he listens to Dimitri speak to him, clumsily repeating words that he's only heard other people speak... Claude can't help the pride that wells up in his chest, second only to the immense fondness that warms his heart. Only a few months ago... and Dimitri would never have spoken to him so energetically, so hopefully. All it took was reaching out....  
  
Claude chuckles quietly to himself in the midst of their lessons, and all Dimitri can do is blink at him in confusion. The two of them... really are so desperate for a bit of contact, for the understanding of another person.  
  
There's no time for him to be amused and aching at how much him and Dimitri are alike, in the ways that they've been hurt. With so many words to impart upon Dimitri, he has to go through them quickly, and hope that Dimitri remembers the lesson. He tells him that an "idea" is a more focused and fleshed out "thought", and he tells him that "proper" is close to "suitable", and one and on. He ends up running just a little late past how he had planned to stay... but it's worth it when he sees Dimitri listening so intently, and echoing everything he says.  
  
If only he could stay longer... but Claude knows he's tempting fate as it is. So he tells Dimitri he has to go, grasps his hand again, and then he slips away. Still, he keeps the moment tucked away in his chest, and lets it comfort him the next morning when he sets off again.  
  
Maybe going to visit Dimitri despite the time constraints was a kind of blessing, or simply good luck. On his journey away from the church, he takes the time for a small sidejourney so that he can check in on another town that apparently has a small voa population residing there. Someone from one of his earlier stops had said the horses raised here don't fear wolves or bears or far worse things... and Claude is delighted to find that a voa is the reason for that, living a quiet life just on the edge between plains and mountains.  
  
"Raising horses is quite the change of pace, from what I know of other voa," Claude says as she leads him back to the large field she keeps so many of her horses at. "Although I hope that isn't offensive to say. I suppose I've just met most who like the open sea... Almyra is the country with a reputation for horseback riding."  
  
She looks back at him with a calm, patient smile. With pale fur and black markings that almost seem to shine purple in the light, she makes quite the impression, and her long horns remind him of twisting winds with the way they curl in on each other while still going straight in a point. "Well, I became interested in seeing how people could ride them so skillfully when I was young, and fortunate enough to go on a job with my parents, before they passed. I became interested all on my own... And then my younger sisters became obsessed. One thing lead to another."  
  
"And that thing lead to an entirely different thing..." Claude chuckles. "I think I can understand that." That feels like more than a little bit of his own life, honestly... Trying to find a place to hide and be by himself lead him to Dimitri. So when he'd allowed himself to stay in the city, been convinced to watch an execution and seen his old friend down there...  
  
Well, here he is again, coming to a stop at the edge of a field that has quite the impressive set of stables not that far off - a benefit of living so close to mountains where trees are plentiful despite the wide expanse of plain that he's just left.  
  
There are more than a few slender and speedy breeds he can see, even at a distance, content to eat grass or harass one another in the spirit of playfulness. While he can only make guesses for now, Claude feels pretty confident that they're wonderful horses. No doubt they would be amazing for him if he wasn't already delighted with Wyvern's own pedigree, and how his four legged companion has done well by him for as long as he's kept him... Not to mention that he's not here shopping for himself.  
  
No, he's looking for something with a big more weight to it, and so he lets his gaze wander a bit more. Sure enough, while there _are_ those lovely and speedy breeds, there are much bigger beasts of burden here as well. He's delighted to find that they're _enormous_ creatures. Even at a far enough distance, he can tell that a lot of them are taller than _he_ is. Claude would never say he's the tallest man in the world, far from it, but he always liked to assume he held a rather respectable height.  
  
Yet besides those enormous horses out in the fields, or drinking from their watering trays, he may as well be a child again. Claude gives a low whistle, watching as one of the larger horses passes by a more slender cousin. It's like watching a naval ship pass by a little fishing boat. "Seeing them, even from a distance like this, really does drive it home what kind of horses do best with voa, even if they aren't fast. Still, they're no doubt faster than walking everywhere."  
  
"It's a dream of mine and my husband's for us to raise horses that are both big and fast." Leaning against the tall fence meant for both Voa and the enormous horses in the field, the breeder, Uno as she'd introduced herself as a silly nickname picked up from the locals, gives a small out towards the fields. "I have no doubt that is going to be a difficult task... but I do like it here, and I like raising the horses into fine steeds. It allows me time with my family as well."  
  
What a soft and content life... Claude almost wishes he could have something similar for himself, and for Dimitri as well. His life has never been anything less than constant movement, eternal striving towards something better. He can't just sit still while there's passion burning at his feet and people suffering in the world. If him and Dimitri could simply live contentedly in some little town, doing whatever they liked...  
  
Well. First things first. Before that, he has to get Dimitri out of the church's grasp. And before _that_... "I heard from someone else that these horses don't shy even in the face of mountain lions," he says conversationally. "I'm going to take it that means that they're completely used to voa?"  
  
"That's right. My husband, myself, or my sisters have been around every single one of these horses ever since they were first born. They're used to us... Although unfortunately, for some of the larger ones, that means they're more used to voa than they are to humans."  
  
That would be a problem for anyone else, quite possibly. Claude only smiles. "Oh yeah? Let me see... If I had to guess, I would say it's because voa like you or anyone else who drops by this town are the ones who use them the most, right?"  
  
Uno sighs with a fond smile on her face. "That's right. For the people in town, we often make plans ahead of time so that they can get used to some of the foals, and vice versa... but those are usually the smaller breeds, with only a couple of the draft horses dealing with others. Voa traders sometimes come to us, or we take a few of our younger horses to town on certain days, so they're often the ones we mainly sell to. If you want, I can introduce you to some of our fastest horses..." Her smile turns to him, now. "If the one you rode into town is any indication... You seem like the kind of person who prefers the fastest steed."  
  
Faintly, he wonders if she can somehow pick up on his Almyran ancestry, or if it's just a comment about his personality, or Wyvern being the kind of horse that plays around, or any other million little things. He doesn't dwell on it too much; there's no reason to. Instead, he nods to where there's a small group of big horses. "Actually, I was thinking of something a bit bigger. Could you walk me through their personalities?"  
  
Uno doesn't question why he wants a larger horse. She merely obliges him, guiding him along the fence as she points out the different individual horses. Even for as large as they all are, each one clearly has its own distinct personality, and she's just as clearly gotten to know the details of every one. Some of them are as bright and playful as his own Wyvern. Others, despite their size, are a lot more shy and skittish, eyeing him uncertainly despite the fact that Claude is pretty sure he's a lot less frightening than a bear.  
  
They're all nice horses despite this, of course... but they're not quite what he's looking for. This is going to be Dimitri's first horse, after all. If one is too playful and energetic, he might not be able to get a handle on it. Those that are too shy or skittish may lead to problems when he's learning to ride. No, he needs something a lot more... sturdy. Someone quiet and dependable, who won't mind the awkwardness of a first time rider.  
  
When he tells Uno that he's looking for this kind of horse, she calls over to one of her younger sisters - one of the only who's stuck around, since the youngest is off galavanting on her own steed. With dark fur that shines a bit more blue than purple, she's quite a sight as she makes her way out into the horse's field. Her goal is one tree that's grown tall and wide.  
  
Claude hadn't realized it before, but there's one more horse that's been calmly spending his day there in the shade. The sister manages to get a rope around him, but it almost doesn't seem necessary. The horse follows her along into the sun patiently, where his pitch black coat makes him seem like a living shadow.  
  
The horse doesn't have a problem with the sister, and leans his head down so that Uno can pet him indulgently. Yet when Claude steps forward, he looks down at him with what almost looks like _disdain_ , or perhaps distaste. Claude has gotten that look plenty of times in his life before, but he's amused to say that this is the first time a _horse_ has ever looked at him like that. It's amazing how expressive creatures can be with their eyes and body posture alone, he has to admit.  
  
"He's still relatively young, compared to some of the other horses we have here," Uno explains, patting the horse's snout to reward him for staying in place, "but he is full grown. However, he's much more used to my family than the humans in town.... He might be a little difficult for you at first, since he'll need a lot of time to get used to you. I'm not sure how well your friend might fare... but he's been a fine horse for my daughter to practice her own riding. In that regard, he's excellent."  
  
A horse that's wary of humans.... Well, that seems like the perfect match, then. Claude finds himself smiling a little more before he can stop himself. "That's fine," he reassures Uno. "I have experience with difficult horses. I'm sure he'll do great, once we get used to one another."  
  
Fortunately, the good thing is that the big guy is more patient and stubbornly steady than he is rowdy and prone to outbursts. That doesn't make it any less of a problem when he digs his hooves in when Claude tries to lead him along... Uno's younger sister has to help until Claude can have him get used to Wyvern, who is more than glad for the company. Claude stays the night in the little town, letting the two adjust to each other's presence.  
  
It's done for more than simply the two of them getting along, although that is the most important thing. Rather, when Claude prepares to leave for the next day, Wyvern's energetic and nosy bossiness helps get their new friend moving. Sure, a human may be something to view with wariness and stubbornness, but a fellow horse? That's apparently fine. And since Wyvern listens to him...  
  
When they settle in for the night at camp, Claude smiles at the new horse. "The only reason you're wary of me is because you don't know me yet," he murmurs, feeding some food to Wyvern by hand when he knows their third wheel is watching. "But I have time to have you get used to me... and I know you will. It's just a matter of waiting."  
  
Their new horse doesn't particularly respond. He simply continues to watch as Claude feeds Wyvern, and the way Claude runs his hand along Wyvern's snout. If he was able to get Dimitri to reach out to him when his old friend had fallen back to square one in terms of how he felt about humans... Claude is sure that this horse will also follow the same route, and maybe even quicker. Dimitri outright hated humans, after all. The horse doesn't even have feelings that strong; he's just not used to things.  
  
Fortunately, even if he's not used to dealing with a human like this, he's still patient and his hunger trumps over anything else. He eats from Claude's palm as well, and Claude makes sure to get him what he knows are the best parts of his meal. Eventually, he goes off to tend to his own dinner, and the horse finishes off the rest. Like that, together, they eat in comforting silence, and Claude feels reassured that such a huge horse can't escape without making a ton of noise that would wake a light sleeper like himself in a heartbeat.  
  
Even if the new horse may not like him just yet, he still learns to listen well enough as time goes on. There's no need to coax him, or convince him, or get Wyvern _too_ involved in the whole moving process. It's simply that he doesn't show much affection to Claude, and always watches him carefully when there's nothing else to otherwise distract him. That's good progress, and the kind Claude was absolutely expecting.  
  
"He's a beautiful stallion," Ignatz says, when Claude drops by to pick up a few more things he had Leonie relay to his friends in the merchant business. Even as Claude is filling up his pack, Ignatz's eye is trained solely on where the new horse has been tied up and is patiently weathering through Wyvern trying to nip at his ears. Despite this fact, the new horse is managing a rather dignified look about itself, and simply raises his head out of Wyvern's reach. In height, after all, he can't be beat.  
  
Claude chuckles, reorganizing some things for a better fit. "The big guy certainly is. Next to Wyvern, he stands out all the harder... Or maybe it's the other way around."  
  
Blinking, Igntaz glances over at him. "Does he not have a name?"  
  
So he caught on that quickly. Those spectacles of his really aren't merely for show... Ignatz has always been pretty clever, with a good eye for spotting out inconsistencies. Is it because he's an artistic type, or because he's known Claude for so long? It's just one of life's little mysteries that even Claude has to admit are impossible to answer.  
  
Claude only smiles and shakes his head. "Not yet. It's not really my place to name him." That... will be something he wants to give to Dimitri. The opportunity to name and bond with a companion.  
  
Claude doesn't expect for him to bond with this horse like he himself has with Wyvern, of course... but he thinks, he hopes, that Dimitri will still find something positive in the action regardless. If he can just make Dimitri's re-entrance into the world as positive as possible...  
  
Ignatz considers him for a moment before shaking his head, looking back towards the black stallion as he moves his head away from Wyvern once more. No one can say that Claude's steed isn't as stubborn and playful as he is. "Is he for someone that I know?" Ignatz asks, in that way which is subtly careful. They do this song and dance, sometimes - with Ignatz worrying about just what Claude is up to and that he never shares with any of his friends.  
  
It's for the best - for Claude, for Ignatz, for their friends, for Dimitri. Still.... "You don't know who he's for just yet," Claude admits, tugging up the edges of his pack to make sure everything settles inside properly. "But I'll introduce you one day. Honestly, that might be sometime soon, if I can get a break from the church!"  
  
For the time being, it's the best he can do for his friends: a mixture of truth and lies. There's no question on the fact that he's going to get a "break" from the church, in a lot of different ways... But he can frame it as something more in their control than his.  
  
Either way, the one thing that's absolutely and completely true above all else is that he wants to introduce Dimitri to his friends. He wants Dimitri to meet more people that will like him as a person, and he wants people close to him to meet each other, to like one another.  
  
He wants a lot of things. It's going to take a while to get all of them, and even that is something he can't be sure of.  
  
Ignatz considers the answer he's given, before he gives a small smile. "Well... Then, I'll look forward to the kind of person that can ride such an amazingly gallant steed. Maybe it can be something I'll draw - as a memory of your friend and I meeting."  
  
"Should I be jealous, then?" Claude laughs, eyes sparkling. "If only I could get an incredible Ignatz work of art as a first meeting!" As though he hasn't gotten some sketchbooks from Ignatz, hadn't asked for them in exchange for various small favors like introducing him to certain nobles or various little churches for commissions. It's tough being an artist when one is only from a merchant's family... but Claude doesn't want to see Ignatz's talent go to waste, even along with all the other ways this relationship benefits him. "Anyway, tell Raphael I said hi, and that I appreciate the thing from before, about the key."  
  
"I'll be sure to pass along the message." Ignatz pauses for a moment. "And stay safe on the roads, all right, Claude?"  
  
Claude laughs, and waves him good bye as he goes to add his latest supplies to the horses. He's not concerned about what will find him out on the roads.  
  
It's the place he's returning to that's the problem.  
  
  
  
  
  
When Dorothy sits down in front of him, Dimitri pauses from where he's picked up his piece of bread, and she immediately flusters. " _Is this too close... I thought I was coming close enough little by little, like they say to do down in the stables, but he's looking at me... I knew I was being too bold..._ "  
  
Always fussing so much. Dimitri snorts a bit, and looks back down at his stew so that he can shove the loaf in there again to soak. Even without looking at her, he can tell that she's easing up. The lack of muttering is a bit of a giveaway. That's probably for the better; Dimitri deals with enough tension in the nights where he's prodded into the execution ring. He doesn't want to deal with it while he's eating his meal.  
  
Besides, at least she's even more quiet sitting there in front of him. When she stands, he has to deal with her shuffling feet, her breathing gradually changing the longer she stands. While it's minor enough for him to usually not care, he has to admit that this is even better. When she sits down, there's hardly any sound at all besides the shift of her clothing against itself, and her breath.  
  
As always, she starts her words up again when he doesn't much respond to her. " _You know, I asked Lady Clarine... If animals have souls either. She has been learning from the scripture much more religiously than I have... Her family is a little better off in the city as well, instead of how I'm from a farm. I thought she would know, and she did. Apparently, animals... don't have souls either. Just like you._ "  
  
Souls.... Dimitri knows that word, and fairly well. It's one of those words that seems to come up so often here, especially in relation to him - or, at least, a part of that word is applied to him constantly. He knows what the church, as a whole, thinks about him.... but Dorothy's words has him look up at her curiously, at the same time he raises up his bread from the stew. For once, she's not looking at him, but instead the ground.  
  
So.... They think animals as well have no souls. That makes sense in hindsight. His existence is because they believe that killing another person, extinguishing another soul from this existence, is a sin.  
  
Thus, they need someone else to do it for them... but it can't just be anyone. It has to also be someone who "sin" cannot stick onto. And since apparently "sin" and "soul" go hand in hand... It's all convoluted nonsense as far as Dimitri can tell, and so he's never bothered to try and learn more about it. This is especially true since Claude left - was taken away - so many years ago when they were younger.  
  
In a similar vein, if something is soulless, then not only is it not a sin if it kills something, but it is not a sin if a human kills _it_. The logic is rather obvious when Dimitri thinks about it. He's simply never bothered to before. So even though animals can feel pain and enjoy eating food and so many other things... Well. It is a convenient logic, he supposes. It allows one to run away from all guilt, or what it means to kill something, or partake of its flesh.  
  
Dorothy is still talking, and so Dimitri has to drag himself out of his own thoughts so that he can focus on her words, and translating them in his head. It's not something he can do half-heartedly.  
  
" _I wanted to ask Lady Clarine more things... because it started to seem strange to me. I mean, maybe it's just because I'm not very smart... I'm sure that this is something that the priests and all the priests before them have thought about. But if animals don't have souls... We never kept the herding dogs back on the farm in cages. So I..._ "  
  
Once more, she trails off. Once more, Dimitri picks his way through the various words she said in order to translate them, or decipher them, or guess at their meaning.  
  
Would Claude be pleased, if he were to hear that Dimitri thinks he can make out more of what was said this time? Would he be able to explain to Dimitri in detail what this girl is saying, pull it all apart so that the innards of meaning could be shown to him in full? It's been a while since he visited his cage... Dimitri wants to see him again. He wants to talk again. How had he not realized how much he'd missed that until Claude began to visit him...  
  
There's a light scratching sound, and Dimitri's ear twitches up, swivels slightly towards the direction of it. It's only Dorothy, her nail scratching along the curve of her boot, near her toes. She's never fidgeted like _this_ before... Dimitri starts to eat his bread quietly, watching her. Usually, she's always mumbled to herself aloud when there's been something she'd needed to work through. This is new...   
  
" _I still wonder why... demons can't be worked alongside like dogs, or horses. I read in a book, once, that dogs and wolves are the same. You look like a cat, almost... Just, not entirely like one. Since you're on two feet... and you have hands..._ " Dorothy draws her knees up to her chest, and rests her chin upon them. " _I wonder... why can't have you out of that cage. If you're the same as an animal... is there any reason to treat you like this? I wonder... if it's only because you don't understand what we say that you're so violent. If you're helping cast judgment on sinners, then... that's a really important job._ "  
  
Dimitri narrows his eye at her from over his food, and tears into his bread with a particularly violent and rough bite. So even she only thinks of him as something akin to a dog, an animal to be used like dogs are used to herd sheep. Well.... Claude always _was_ the anomaly out of all the humans he'd ever met. It really would be a lot to ask if someone else were exactly like him in this wretched place. If more people were like Claude, then this place wouldn't even exist.  
  
Dorothy says nothing else. She only sits there, brow furrowed, and loses herself in her head again. There is no mumbling, no speaking aloud. Well... That's fine. Dimitri thinks he would prefer the quiet right now.  
  
Of course, things like that can only last for so long, with his luck and his life being what they are. There's the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway, and Dorothy immediately scrambles up to her feet, grabbing the pole she uses as she does so.  
  
She's just in time. Dimitri lowers his ears and bristles quietly to himself as he sees the other controllers, the proper ones with their tattoos and arrogance, stride into the courtyard. While they look at him with that same disdain and disgust as usual, their eyebrows raise when they see Dorothy so close to his cage. " _Actually feeling bold for once, Dorothy?_ "  
  
All of that is something he can't understand, and said just a little too quickly as well, which is all the more annoying. Dorothy at least speaks slowly, even when mumbling to herself. It's part of what's made it easy to pick out various words and the like, so that he can speak them to Claude later and figure out their meaning.  
  
Dorothy shrinks in the face of these elders of hers, holding tightly onto her pole. Dimitri hadn't realized just how relaxed she's become with him, until he has a situation like this to contrast it with. " _He simply.... seemed like he was calm today...._ "  
  
" _That's the problem with inexperienced children like you_ ," one of the controllers grouses - still too quickly for Dimitri to quite interpret what he's saying. His tone gives it away well enough, however. " _Demons will turn on you in the blink of an eye for absolutely no reason at all. You're lucky that you have more experienced types like us to tell you what's right from wrong._ "  
  
Dorothy's fingers wind a little tighter around her pole. Dimitri can only barely see her do it where he's sitting, refusing to do anything but eat his food. " _...I didn't think... you would want to bother with the demon while he's eating... There isn't an execution tonight, is there...?_ "  
  
That has Dimitri pause, eyes narrowed, and he considers eating his stew quickly so that he can have the empty bowl on hand. They make for good throwable items, so long as he can get them past the bars...  
  
" _Now now, everyone, let's remember that she's inexperienced_ ," one of the controllers says mildly from the back - a man that Dimitri can recall being particularly glad to use a whip on him when it comes to getting him out of the killing ring. " _You see, Dorothy, we have to check on the demon's condition every few months or so. You know, the same way that you would make sure a cow is healthy. A demon is only as good as their fangs and claws, as their ability to kill. So we have to make sure he's not losing his teeth, and maybe even show a bit of kindness to such a monster. You were from a farm. I'm sure you understand._ "  
  
A lot of those words, he still doesn't understand, and some of them he can't even make out entirely. Yet... Dimitri thinks he understands what's happening, because this has happened plenty of times before.  
  
Just knowing it... doesn't make him any happier, however. Dimitri feels his fur bristle, and he has to take a deep breath. That can happen eventually. For now, he has to finish his food.... since he's not entirely sure _these_ particular controllers would keep it in place for him, or at least keep it clean and free from dirt. He'll have to eat faster than normal...  
  
Except Dorothy takes a deep breath, pole shaking a moment in her hands, before she speaks up. " _Can.... it wait until he's finished eating?_ "  
  
" _Oh, what's that? I hope you haven't become fond of that thing, Dorothy._ "  
  
The pole wavers a little more. Dorothy herself doesn't seem to, from what Dimitri can see as he watches his from underneath his bangs. " _I... was told that my job every day is to feed the demon. And... I don't... think it would count if I didn't have him finish his meal entirely..._ "  
  
Laughter rolls over them from a couple of the controllers, and the one that's pretending to be in charge - it's certainly not Narcian, the one Claude has mentioned before, but why would he ever come down to do this kind of dirty work himself - he tilts his chin up imperiously. " _So diligent at such a young age! Well, we'll take this time to go have lunch ourselves, then... But you know, Dorothy, we should take you with us when we finally take care of this demon. Give you a proper look at what really goes into being a controller. We'll see you in a few minutes then._ "  
  
All Dorothy does is nod in response, awkward and uncertain, but it's a movement that's barely seen. The group is already turning away, with only one bothering to wave at her in good bye - or perhaps dismissal. People here use their thoughts and feelings like snakes, instead of bridges to other people.  
  
Dorothy stays in one place, holding her pole tight while Dimitri finishes off his food. Both of them stay like this, until the figures of the controllers disappear into the hallway, and their footsteps no long echo against stone.  
  
Only then do Dorothy's shoulders slump, and she lets out a rush of breath so hard and sudden that one could hear it from across the courtyard. Dimitri only picks up his sausage, finding some petty amusement that none of those people saw that he had it right there on his plate. Perhaps Dorothy's body or her words blocked their attention. Perhaps they were too far away to properly see it. Perhaps, and Dimitri is petty enough to believe this, they were too full of arrogance to bother checking if anything had changed.  
  
" _They're always like that..._ " Dimitri glances up again, focusing on Dorothy as she winds her fingers again about the pole. With her having turned away from the hallway, it's much easier to see that little action, and the way her brow starts to furrow. " _If I were just... No, they wouldn't listen to me.... And I bet there's never been a controller who's bothered with their demon like this. But... it really would be so much easier if I could just...._ " And she sighs, before she can finish her thought. Well, it is simply her thoughts wondered aloud, instead of something spoken to him. Dimitri won't bother much about it.  
  
Instead, he tilts his head back, and doesn't care how messy his face gets as he cleans up what's left in his bowl before snapping up the rest of his sausage too. Dimitri doesn't put the bowl back down on the tray, however.  
  
Dorothy isn't expecting that, having adjusted her pole in preparation for dragging the tray back to her side, and she pauses while the both of them stare at each other. After a few seconds of awkwardness that Dimitri refuses to feel, Dorothy pulls her pole back to rest along her shoulder again.  
  
" _Maybe he wants to clean out the bowl a little more...? I didn't think he would be that hungry... It seemed as though there was a lot of food..._ " He doesn't give an answer.  
  
She seems content to let him keep a hold of the bowl for the time being, drawing herself into a crouch where her knees are pressed close together and her pole is balanced on her thighs. It's something that most other controllers would never allow. Then again, for most other controllers, Dimitri would throw the bowl at their face in the blink of an eye. " _Maybe I should see about getting more for him..._ "  
  
It's not particularly good food, frankly. Dimitri imagines he would be rather fine if he just had a small pile of sausages and nothing else, since those are by far the most appealing thing he eats nowadays, when Claude is not there for him. Still.... If he's understanding her correctly, he's not wholly against the intent... even if she is only viewing it as him being an animal.  
  
Well. Maybe it's better to be an animal than it is to be a demon.  
  
The pole wobbles where it's perched against her legs, and that's when he pays attention to her again, how she's actually dared to lean a little close to the bars of his cage. Maybe she knows that he could grab her so easily at this distance, just a swipe of her hair and he'd have her in his grasp. Certainly, she has to know how dangerous this is after how he took care of Erik. She was there for it. And yet Dorothy does it anyway, despite the way she bites at her lip, and clenches her fingers into her palms tightly.  
  
" _I don't know... if you understand me after all this time. The priests say that demons are clever and sneaky, but you've never done that to me, or said any words in Fodlish. The only time you've ever spoken... was when Mister Claude spoke to you in that other language. Voali. So... I don't know. But, if you do... Then, however the cleaning is supposed to go... I'll try not to make it hurt._ "  
  
Dimitri has never had cause to believe humans before. The only person he's ever truly been able to believe in... is Claude. Claude, all on his own, not as a representative of humans. So Dimitri just lets her sit there, and watches her stand when there's the sound of footsteps in the hallway again.  
  
When one controller steps further ahead of his pack than all the others, keys in his hand, Dimitri makes sure to throw his empty bowl right at his head.  
  
They forget to torment Dorothy entirely.  
  
  
  
  
  
Claude looks over the pantry in the hunter's cabin, and breathes easy for once in a long while.  
  
There are a few such places all throughout church territory, across the land that's been claimed by this miserable little offshoot. The one he's in now, that he climbs a ladder up into from out of the pantry, is the one that's closest to the city; he's relieved to say that all his planning has turned out for the best. Thanks to a lot of little conversations, redirections, he's confident that no other hunters will even think of going up to this particular cabin for at least a week... Or maybe it's "at most" a week. Either way, that's all he needs.  
  
Hauling himself over to the fireplace, Claude takes a moment to simply soak in the heat. He'll be here for a night, at least. He can spend a little time preparing himself, taking a breath - the calm before the storm, as they say. Letting the fire warm his feet, he twists around and drags his pack back over to him. He'd simply dropped it on the ground when he'd entered after making sure Wyvern and the black stallion were stabled for the time being, but he has things he has to look over now as he spends the night here.  
  
The spare key to Dimitri's cage.... Put in a small pouch that he's going to double tie to his belt before he sets off for the city. The most important thing of all. Already on his belt is his lockpicking set, for any unexpected doors that might bar his way... and getting into one of the bishop's chambers. Claude won't feel too bad intruding upon the space of the man who apparently has hand chosen or recommended some of the worst controllers in the lot. A knife... for cutting off all connections. And finally, a large cloak that will cover up even Dimitri's massive frame, and keep his face hidden in shadows.  
  
All that, plus a small set of bandages. A group of things that, with the exception of the cloak, could fit in a small pack without any issue. Anything else, he can pack onto Wyvern, because it won't do them any good to have too much when he ducks inside.  
  
Faintly, he wonders if his messages were passed along properly within the church - a message and package to the kitchens, stamped with a priestly seal. Messages and bribes sent along to other people, so that they'll turn their heads the other way at a certain time. Messages to people like Henning, spinning a yarn about where he's at, which he's written is quite a distance away from the church instead of only a small distance away.  
  
Claude takes in a deep breath, and rolls his head back to stare up at the ceiling. At the beginning of the year... He thought he would have to do so many different things, for such a long time, before he could ever strike at the church.  
  
He'd really been in it for the long haul, hadn't he? Gathering evidence, getting into places he wasn't supposed to be, making connections.... In the end, he was only ever one person against the church. That meant, for his impact to have any meaning whatsoever... He would have had to drive it with has much force as possible, into just the right place at the right time. Like breaking through a rock, or ice.  
  
And now here he is, about to break out this church's oh-so-valuable executioner, and set off no doubt a chain of reactions. Claude already has plans for his return, exactly what to say and who to say it to, if he's not called upon immediately for whatever reason... But this is big. Bigger than he expected he'd be able to make happen, and possibly big enough to change so much so quickly, even if it's something that will ultimately be a long game in the end. Dimitri being free... will change so much.  
  
Claude exhales the breath he took in, feels his lungs empty out completely. A part of him.... wonders if he would have left Dimitri in there if he thought that his old friend couldn't help out this plan against the church. He wonders a lot of things, like if he would have helped if it were anyone else and not just Dimitri, from his childhood. There are so many ways this could have ended differently....  
  
And yet he supposes there's no point worrying about it, not really. Maybe, _maybe_ , it will tell him a little more about himself, really force him to think on his actions and reasoning and beliefs... but maybe it will also just make him spiral into self doubt, and distract him from the task he has ahead of himself. It's better for him to double check everything he has available for himself, so that his plan can go as smoothly as it can possibly go.  
  
So, after a moment, he pushes himself back up onto his feet and does a double check around the cabin again. With something like this, he doesn't want to forget even a single thing... but fortunately, there's no need to worry too hard about it.  
  
The bed has plenty of blankets, and thick ones too, that will weather any sudden chills perfectly. Claude doesn't plan on staying here for too long, because he can't afford to, but, well.... Better safe than sorry. Likewise, plenty of firewood has been stocked up both alongside the fireplace itself, and outside of the cabin. All of the kitchen tools, and other equipment to living out here is set up... as is the rainwater that's been collected for drinking, and use of the bathing and animal prepping room.  
  
Everything... is perfectly set up, exactly as he could want it. All Claude can do is wait the night and day away....  
  
Until he can get onto Wyvern, black stallion in tow, to guide them down the path and into the woods nearest to the city. It's still only evening when he arrives to where he wants to be, and he finds himself holding his breath as he watches the moon pass, the shadows stretch. When it's finally the right time...  
  
He steps towards the city walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the other wholecloth chapter that I wrote for this fic, and yet another transitional chapter as well! I doubted anyone wanted to read indepth on just shopping or sitting in a cell, especially after what happened in the last two chapters, so this is where we are. 
> 
> Honestly, doing research on some of the sexual stuff was especially fun. For example, when I was telling Rose about Dimitri's dick, she told me she wasn't sure what that would look like... so I got to be the delightful individual who introduced her to Bad Dragon dildos. For those who also aren't familiar with that name, Bad Dragon is an online sex toy store where they offer all sorts of neat toys in very different shapes. 
> 
> I've known about it for so long that I can remember a time when they used to have a furry pin up sort of picture alongside every toy entry.... Memories. 
> 
> And then, for this chapter, I had a lot of fun looking into the history of sex toys! Unsurprisingly, humans as a race have been horny for a very long time. We figure out ways to get it done, even when there are no satisfactory partners elsewhere. So Claude definitely had a surprising amount of options, although admittedly thanks to the determined work of a certain Voa merchant. She's truly the Bad Dragon of her own time. 
> 
> Additionally!!! My artist partner Ri posted up the cover art that I used for this fic, so go check it out on twitter and give it some adoration! 
> 
> https://twitter.com/Rihamsterr/status/1373725239352426503?s=20
> 
> Lyrics for this chapter: 
> 
> "I put one foot in front of the other one  
> I don’t need a new love or a new life, just a better place to die"


	9. Up Off the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude comes back to the city, to Dimitri's cell, for what is not his last gift, but perhaps one of his best.

Dimitri waits patiently for the monastery to fall silent - no chatter echoing down the halls, no distant sounds of horses calling, no clatter of objects being moved around. It takes a while, after he wakes up and finishes the meal Dorothy brings him, but that's fine. It's not as though he has anywhere else to be. Only when the monastery falls silent, with even the footsteps of the patrol a distant memory, does he push himself up to his feet.  
  
He thinks better when he's moving, Dimitri has found. It's something he'd never really thought about before. Back then, all he had to do was wait to kill or be killed in this rotting cage of his, but it's something that's actually true. This applies, obviously, to when he's with Claude, his hands moving about as he tries to mimic or echo back Fodlish words to his dear friend. However, he's honestly been surprised to find that this counts for all sorts of other things as well.  
  
Most surprising is the realization is that he does this when he's fighting in the ring as well. He's only realized it in hindsight, how he paced constantly to get an eye on the area around him, on the person he was supposed to kill, on the guards that would surely get too involved if he dallied for too long instead of even the pretense of an attack. It's as though he himself is a changed creature, extending back even into his memories.  
  
For the most part, however, he moves about when he is practicing the words he's learned properly from Claude, or that he's overheard from various members of the church, including Dorothy. Some things that are said in Fodlish don't seem to match as well with Voali... so it's all the more reason for him to practice.  
  
There really isn't any point for him to learn this language, and there never has been, he knows that. There's no reason for him to work so hard to overcome the syllables which are so awkward in his mouth.  
  
Still... It's something to do. Something to work towards, instead of forcing himself to be patient as he struggles to live like he is while waiting for the perfect opportunity.  
  
Dimitri runs his tongue over teeth, as though he can physically roll the words about in his mouth before he speaks them. He knows that's not how it works, but it makes him feel better.  
  
" _Farm_ ," he mutters to himself, practicing one of the first words he learned early on from listening to Dorothy, and that Claude thus taught him in turn. " _She is from a farm. There are sheep on a farm._ " Simple sentences. Nothing fancy, or special, but he feels pleased that he can say them at all after Claude has spent so much time on them. He's still not entirely sure if he can come up with his own sentences, especially in a way to make them feel natural... but he's more than happy to simply mimic words as they're spoken to him.  
  
All he has to do is make sure that he picks up on when someone is coming down the hallway. That's easy to do, even with the aural obstruction that is his own voice, and the sound of his feet as he moves from one end of his cage to the other.  
  
Not that Dimitri really thinks that anyone will come near his cage too much... He knows what those humans are like. Some seem to be particularly lazy, slow, or simply outright scared of him. Even those who try to do their job responsibly only stride right past him, with only the faintest of glances.  
  
Dimitri supposes he can understand that. There's not much that would change his situation anyway... No reason to really do more than look, and at a distance. He lets out a breath, and gives a small hop, a skip, get the blood flowing throughout his body a little better.  
  
Alright. So he's talked about farms, and sheep.... Maybe he should practice his manners better? They're the things he remembered best from his childhood, when Claude was teaching him, and he wants to be good at them... It feels important, somehow-  
  
There's the faintest of footsteps, leather against dirt, and Dimitri jerks about even before his ear has finished swiveling towards the sound. The courtyard is pitch black.... there's no moon tonight, shapes difficult to make out, even for him. His tail snaps through the air, anxious, a warning, and he flexes his claws down at his sides. It's an almost formless shape, nothing like the monks in the monastery-  
  
"Dimitri," the figure hisses once they're - _he's_ close enough to the bars. Dimitri loses every single bit of tension in him immediately. That voice, he knows who it is... and now that he's close enough, he can recognize the features hidden in his hood as well. He can see those brilliant green eyes, bright even in shadow, and the odd smile on his lips. There's something tense about it... "It's me."  
  
It's Claude.  
  
Faint confusion and surprise settle over Dimitri as he stares at his old friend. He can remember what Claude told him the last time that he dropped by - that he would be gone for quite a bit of time, and the soonest he would be able to see Dimitri again would be... maybe a month, at least. As Dimitri stares at him, absolutely boggled, Claude continues to speak.  
  
"I brought your gift a little early." He's still smiling in that strange tense way, and... his words are quicker than usual. They're a speed Dimitri knows he'd be lost at, if Claude weren't speaking in Voali.  
  
Everything seems off, and Dimitri's ears flick back. "Claude...?" he murmurs, as though he still can't believe it. "You were not to return tonight, I thought..." He wouldn't complain about it before, if Claude arrived back in the city, in the monastery, a day or two early...  
  
Yet not only is this far earlier than anything else, but Claude's behavior is making him wary. Now that he's gotten over the shock of Claude's presence, he's picking up on how on edge his friend is, from head to toe: the tension in his shoulders, the way he glances constantly to the side, the strain of his smile.  
  
Dimitri has seen signs like this before, down in the execution ring.  
  
"As far as the church is concerned, I haven't," Claude tells him, grinning - a flash of white in the darkness, visible against dark skin in darker conditions. "I didn't want people to think I was going to return tonight." He steps closer to the bars, to Dimitri. Somehow, the tension is starting to sink into Dimitri as well, making him feel as though he needs to hold his breath. "You haven't asked me what your gift is."  
  
This feels as though it is some sort of trap, one of those trick questions that Claude occasionally teases him with. Dimitri glances around the courtyard slowly, trying to see if he can spot anything else out of the ordinary. Anything besides Claude, at least.  
  
Yet there is nothing there, nothing that would explain why Claude is acting this way. Still so slowly, his gaze returns to Claude, and he wonders again if this is some sort of... trick on his person. "What?" he finally asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.  
  
Claude raises one hand, right against the lock on his cage's door. There's something in his hand, Dimitri thinks, but he can't quite make out what it is. What he _can_ make out is the very quiet and very slow sound of something clicking inside of the lock. He doesn't understand what's happened, not at first, because Claude reaches into his cloak and pulls out two things. One is a rag. The other is a bottle, filled with a liquid that makes him wrinkle his nose in absolute distaste. It's too sharp, too pungent. He hates it.  
  
Even Claude seems to wrinkle his nose a little bit, although he doesn't have as strong a reaction as Dimitri. He just gets to work, moving to the opposite side of the door so that he can rub down the hinges, and quickly, too. Dimitri doesn't understand the point...  
  
Not until Claude puts the rag away and, with hardly a whisper of noise, opens the door.  
  
He smiles again, a little more confidently, even as Dimitri feels his entire body freeze up. "I know you don't bother with dreams anymore, so I thought I'd bring you something real."  
  
And he just stands there, hand resting against a door he has _dreamed_ and _imagined_ wide open so many times before. At some point over the years, Dimitri thought he had stopped imagining it period, honestly. He'd thought that, just like he had thought he'd gotten over the hallucinations of people he missed, old friends he hadn't seen in years and family that were since long dead.  
  
Dimitri really thought he had moved past all of that.  
  
Wracked with - far too many emotions for him to separate, to discern, Dimitri squeezes his eye shut. The rest of his expression crumples in on itself. "Of course it would be you too," he hisses, fists trembling at his sides. He's not even speaking to anyone in particular, save for perhaps himself and himself alone. His shoulders hunch up, and once again his claws grasp for - something. Dimitri isn't entirely sure what, and if anything would help at all.   
  
Certainly it can't be Claude, or the trick his mind his playing on him that merely _looks_ like Claude, and Dimitri whirls away from the apparition with a slice of his tail through the night air. Frantically, he begins to pace in short and frustrated circles.  
  
"I want one thing," he continues to himself, claws scraping helplessly in the air, "I have nothing else, I am going to die in that ring, and yet, once again, you are gone, and, and..." A low snarl erupts from him, in lieu of any words that could possibly describe his anguish, his frustration.  
  
It's... _infuriating_ , that, after all this time, as he thought that the hallucinations might be getting better, they've returned again... and in such a vicious way, a way that strikes deeper than they have in a very long while. One of his hands jerks upwards, almost going up to his chest, where he wants to dig his claws in until he bleeds, until he snaps out of this fake reality that he's stumbled into.  
  
It's not fair. It's not _fair_. He wanted to see Claude so badly, see him again so that he could have that brief moment of light in his otherwise miserable life, he'd long ago accepted his misery, and yet-  
  
A touch. It's soft, but firm, and sudden above all else, coming to a rest on his shoulders. Dimitri jolts, eye going wide, and the rest of the world snaps back into focus. As it does so, he's helpless to his own body as it's moved around, and he's...  
  
He's looking straight at Claude again.  
  
Suddenly... He feels as though he's that young fool from a few months ago, where he'd cradled a hand so much smaller than his inbetween his two palms. The realization that, for once, he's not just deluding himself.... It stuns him, long enough for Claude to meet his gaze with the firmness of all reality behind him. Despite that, his voice is gentle as he says, "It's real, Dimitri. I'm real. We're getting out of here."  
  
"Claude..." Saying his name still doesn't make it feel real. All this time... All this time, he's _dreamed_ and _hallucinated_ the possibility of getting out of this wretched place, but for it to actually happen... For Claude to actually make it all a reality...  
  
Carefully, trembling, he reaches up to lightly rests his fingers upon one of the hands at his shoulder. And yet... He's still there. It truly is his hand, there upon his shoulder. Dimitri's touch becomes firmer, becomes a grip, and then he can't let go. A ragged breath shakes throughout his throat, his lungs, and he looks at the open cage door that lies before him-  
  
The wave of emotions that crashes over him is too heavy, too much, for Dimitri to consider. All he can hear is the frantic pounding of his heart. After all this time... So much time, and suffering, and having given up _so long ago_...  
  
He has no idea how much time passes as he stares, although it can't be very much at all. All he knows is that time starts up again when Claude slips one hand out from beneath his own, and cups his face... before pulling him down into a kiss. A proper one, nothing at all like the ones that they've had through the bars.  
  
A snarl, a gasp - some sort of mixture of the two leaves his lips even as they meet Claude's, and everything finally settles into place properly again. The world _exists_ ; _he_ exists.  
  
And so does Claude, standing here in front of him, holding onto his face. That is enough to spur Dimitri into movement, into action. He grabs at his friend's sides, as though he'll vanish into thin air if he lets this chance slips him by, and he kisses him back. Claude has always been warm, even if not quite as hot as Dimitri. But, before... He's never felt _this_ warm in the night air, in Dimitri's arms, and their breaths are ragged when they finally pull apart - or, rather, when Claude pulls them apart, lightly tugging him towards the open door.  
  
This is not the first time he's been guided out the doors of his cage. Every few months, he is forced out with burningly bright whips of magic around his throat, his wrists, his mouth, anything meant to keep him immobilized and "docile". His captors prod him out this way, jab their staves into his spine to force him forward. Yet there's no pain here - no choking along his throat, or impact against his back.  
  
There is only Claude's gentle touch, there at his shoulders, encouraging his first steps out of his cage of his own free will.  
  
Air leaves his lungs as Dimitri looks up towards the sky in what feels like the first time in forever. He's always... only had a partial view of it, from within his cage. When Claude and him talked about the constellations, he had to strain in hopes that he could see what his friend was pointing out. But now... in a perfect rectangle, it's right there above him: inky blues, brilliant white, deep purples offset by soft pinks, and hundreds, thousands, of welcoming stars that glitter more brightly than any magic he's ever seen...  
  
He feels dizzy. The weight of his freedom is starting to press down against him, and he feels as though his legs might give out from underneath him. If not for Claude besides him, would he still be on his feet, right now? Slowly, Dimitri drags his gaze from the sight above his own head, and looks towards the darkness of the hallway that he's seen a million times before. Despite being so close, despite the fact that he's been made to walk into its depths so many times before... It's always seemed so far away and unattainable on the other side of his bars.  
  
It's not so far away now. In fact, it's closer than ever before. Inside of Dimitri's chest, his heart pumps faster, and he can feel his shock ebb away. In its place... Adrenaline starts to rush.  
  
"Finally," he murmurs, feeling almost in a daze from the excitement that's sending his entire body into a contained frenzy, held back only by his momentary inaction. "They can finally all die, like they were all meant to." The people he's been waiting for a chance to kill, for all these years - _truly_ fulfilling the duty they themselves had bestowed upon him as a killer of criminals, of sinners.  
  
Yet before he can even do so much as take a step forward to the open hallway, the grip at his shoulders shifts down to his upper arms and squeezes. Dimitri could shrug out of it in a heartbeat, but he doesn't. All he does is snarl down at Claude, who meets it head on.  
  
"Dimitri, no," Claude whispers, doing his best to keep him in place. "I've got us a chance to get out of here, for you to never have to be in a cage again, for you to have an actual _life_. But the window of time we have to get out of here isn't that big. And if you go on a rampage here... If you slaughter people in their _beds_ here..."  
  
Claude takes a breath. "You'll be a criminal. You'll be a public danger. They'll be able to spin your aggression, the deaths you cause, to make you a monster and the dead into martyrs, victims. The church is bigger than just this one monastery, this one city. They'll send people after us. It'll only be a short-lived victory that will end with the church wiping you out."  
  
He won't let that happen - Dimitri refuses to let that happen, and he bares his fangs, ready to argue, to tug his way out of Claude's grip - but then Claude looks at him. He stares up at him with so much sincere pleading in his eyes, shining with emotion, and Dimitri hesitates. For this man, who's given him so much, who's given him a reason to hope...  
  
True to form, Claude doesn't let his moment of indecision and hesitation go to waste. He keeps talking, fingers still holding onto him so tightly. "And it's not just you that they would take out. They would take out me as well, since I would be right there with you. _Please_ , Dimitri. I didn't free you just so that the church could end up killing you anyway. There are other ways to punish them than just tearing through them tonight. Better ways. Don't throw away this chance we've got. You can finally have a _future_ \- one you've chosen for yourself. You don't have to be a killer anymore. So please, for that, and for not getting the entire church down on your head-"  
  
"Then I will simply get rid of anyone who chases after us!" Dimitri snarls, lips peeled back over his fangs as he bristles in Claude's grip. "To them, I am nothing more than a monster already! To be a criminal would be to acknowledge I exist, as a person, as someone who commits sin!" The corners of his mouth jerk up, a frenzied desperate grin. Brief. "Almost a victory of its own. But for them to get away with what they've done, to continue to act as though they are free of murder merely because they forced another, tortured someone and refused to acknowledge their personhood-" A low growl begins to pick up in his voice, the current of his words. "This is what they deserve! If they want an executioner, something that can judge sin and punish it with death, then they'll get that! They'll be the ones in the ring as they should have been all along! I'll show them that!"  
  
And he wants to do that. He wants it so _badly_ , so much so that he can almost taste their blood in his mouth, feel it sink into the fur on his hands. But despite all of that, Dimitri doesn't tear away from Claude.  
  
Now that he has the freedom to do anything he wants... Almost as much as he wants to tear apart those who have made him suffer, who have made countless others suffer, he wants just as much to use this newfound freedom to actually reach out and _keep_ something for himself. He wants to hold Claude in his hands and never let him go. All this time, he thought he'd never be able to hold onto him, had ached and hurt at this knowledge, but now, _now_....  
  
The one good thing in his life, the one good person, is the one that reaches out first. Claude cups Dimitri's face in his hands, and doesn't shy away from the anger raging on his face. "Dimitri, believe me... I agree with you that they need to pay for what they've done. And I promise they will. But what I'm telling you is that just killing them isn't the best way to do this."  
  
He and Claude... have spoken with one another dozens and dozens of times before tonight. Dimitri can remember the bright cheerfulness of him as a child, and the deep darkness he's seen hints of only occasionally. But this... for the first time ever, Dimitri thinks he has seen the most of Claude he ever has, as those brilliant green eyes _burn_. There's an intensity that Dimitri wonders if even he could match, and his voice...  
  
"Killing them is too good for them."  
  
Hatred. Not passionate, brilliant, fiery. No, this is a hatred that is more cold than anything... Cold like ice, formed into perfect points from the edge of his cage, ice that could fall and pierce through a person's heart.  
  
"We can do better than that. _I_ can do better than that. I can turn the whole world against them. I can get them excommunicated and executed by their own church, let them die knowing the world considers them godless fanatics, have them denied heaven by their own faith. _That's_ what I've been working towards for _years_."  
  
He inhales deep, takes in everything he's used up on his words, on his anger and hatred and pain, and Dimitri can't look away. He can't think of anything but Claude, here, in this moment.   
  
"We've lost enough to them," Claude continues, voice low, but no less intense. "A revenge we have to sacrifice even more for isn't worth having. If you want them punished, then work with me for a vengeance we can savor for the rest of our long, happy lives. Not one that'll just make our lives harder. I'm _sick_ of them limiting the good things we can have."  
  
Without thinking.... Without even being conscious of anything beyond Claude's words, his presence... Dimitri realizes he's matched his breathing to Claude's. It feels as though even his _heart_ is pounding in time with his, although he has no basis for that. All he can do... is stare at his friend, intoxicated.  
  
Dimitri... has not had a physical home in for a very, very long time.  
  
The room they first stored him in? Even when he was at his most optimistic, he only ever viewed it as a temporary space. The cage? Nothing but a prison, meant to choke his freedom, his sense of self, away from him completely. Then there is the arena... but that's only been where he's put to use, unleashed upon some person that was never truly tried fairly, even the genuinely worst of the lot.  
  
If there's anything he's treated akin to a home, something to welcome him, something to wrap himself up in... It's his own hatred and rage, his own bloody desire for even a scrap of vengeance. In the face of such a miserable and violent life, it's the only comfort he's ever been able to reliably have: the idea that he could tear apart this rotten system apart with his claws before, inevitably, he'd find a different kind of freedom... One of his death, something he had always thought would be inevitable one way or the other.  
  
Any sense to Claude's words... He can't really tell that, not right now. All he can do is stare into those violently green eyes, and feels himself pierced through. All of his whirling emotions, a storm of anger and pain and vengeance, is, for the first time, blended with another's. The current is redirected, not to the rest of the monastery, but instead to the lone figure that stands before him, and whose hands feel suddenly so searing hot even through the fur on Dimitri's face.  
  
His feelings and Claude are the only things he's had in this life. Maybe he should be terrified, to see them blended together like this... But Dimitri can only take comfort, even as he raises shaking hands to rest up over Claude's. His expression twists, conflicted, as he bows his head.  
  
He wants to tear this whole place to the ground... He wants to turn the stones to dust, dash blood against the ground, see it all burn. He wants it so bad that he shakes from it. But...  
  
Dimitri breathes in, sharp enough to scrape at the inside of his throat. "Alright," he says, voice hoarse, face twisted, all from being pulled back from his innermost urges. Before him, he thinks he can hear Claude stop breathing. "But-" He swallows, tries to wet his throat, and only has a slight bit of success. "But one thing. Let me destroy one thing in this accursed place."  
  
It takes a second for Claude to get his words again, to pull himself back from the vulnerable passion that he'd just revealed to Dimitri, and he squeezes his eyes shut for that brief moment. "Thank you," he whispers, before he opens his eyes again to look at Dimitri. Just those two words alone... tells him that it's not only Dimitri who was absorbed into Claude's words, his feelings. The reverse is just as much true. "But... what one thing are you talking about?"  
  
"The room," Dimitri answers immediately, before he realizes that he might need to explain more than that. "The one where I was pulled into... at the start of all of this. Before you met me." He might have tried to describe it to Claude once upon a time, he thinks, when they were young, and he was trying to find out more about his situation. The description couldn't have been very good at all... Both from the language barrier, his own foolish optimism at the time, and how dazed he had been when the church had somehow summoned him. "I want- I _need_ to destroy it." A snarl of a grimace flashes across his face. "When I'm gone... When I'm gone..."  
  
Dimitri has many flaws. He knows this, and it's the kind of thing that's become all the more obvious now that he's had Claude to compare himself to over these past few months. He's violent, and oblivious, and, as has just been proven right now, bad at long term planning.  
  
Yet regardless of all of that, he's not a complete idiot. Long ago, when he had first become the church's executioner, it had occurred to him that he was just a replacement for another voa. Everything had been too well prepared beforehand, too well used, for him to be the first attempt at any of this. And so, when he thought he would meet his own inevitable and violent end...  
  
He won't let that happen. If he can't raze this entire monastery to the ground, then he can at least destroy one room. And if he's going to destroy one room out of all of them...  
  
Claude hesitates for a moment - or maybe his mind is simply whirring again with thoughts and plans. Dimitri is starting to suspect that the moments of silence Claude had on occasion before were examples of that.  
  
"It wouldn't be the same if I did it for you, would it?" he asks at last, not sounding particularly hopeful, and not seeming surprised when Dimitri shakes his head immediately. "If you're spotted wandering the halls of the monastery, it's going to raise the alarm no matter what. But if you went outside and waited for me while I did it... I could probably talk my way out if anyone spotted me." He studies Dimitri with a sigh. "...But I have a feeling that won't satisfy you."  
  
"No," Dimitri says, his eye narrowed. After a moment, however, he makes himself ease up slightly. The wild anger wanting to burst in his chest isn't the kind of thing he wants aimed at Claude, especially when he's trying to work with Dimitri like this. Then... it's only fair if he tries to work with him in turn. He glances about, trying to think. "I can be careful," he says after a moment, anger shimmering down to be replaced by a kind of awkwardness. "I can hear things better than you can... and not run into anything."  
  
Well, maybe. Possibly. Stealth... is something of a new experience for him.  
  
"...Alright." Claude smiles at him, the strain clearly wearing heavily down on him. Dimitri can't understand just what kind of things Claude has done for all of this to happen, for him to be confident enough in getting Dimitri free... but, just judging by that smile alone, it must be a lot. And yet that doesn't diminish the truth of his smile a single bit. "I don't want another voa to go through this either, so I'm glad you thought of it. My plans were focused purely on you."  
  
He finally lets go of Dimitri, and his face feels colder where Claude's hands once were. Turning away, Claude slips back into the hallway quickly with a quick wave of his hand that motions Dimitri to stay where he is. He's back soon, with an enormous pile of cloth in his arms. He only realizes that it's a cloak, heavy fabric and a fur trimmed hood, when Claude holds it out to him.   
  
"I brought this just as insurance so that it'd be hard for anyone to spot you and realize you're a voa while we're on the way out of here, but it might be more useful than I thought," Claude explains while Dimitri accepts the cloak. "I paid off some of the guards to leave their posts for fifteen minutes or so on our route out of here, although that time frame will have almost certainly have run out by the time we're finished with the room. Hopefully it won't matter, since I drugged everyone on the night shift anyway." He grins again, but this is less tense, and more sly. "I didn't really know if I could trust them. So, hopefully, we shouldn't run into anyone, or at least no one who's awake... but it's impossible to predict everything."  
  
There's a lot to the monastery that Dimitri doesn't understand. It's not a place where he's ever truly participated in its day to day rituals and habits. All he's really known is his cage, and the arena. Still.... Clumsily, he tugs his cloak around his shoulders, and fiddles ungracefully with the draw at the front until Claude reaches up to do it for him. Whatever Claude has been doing in the times Dimitri hasn't seen him... It's clearly been a lot.  
  
With his cloak done up at the front, Dimitri reaches for the hood and tugs it over his head. Immediately, his mouth turns in distaste. "It's... a lot." There's a weight on his horns, which he doesn't like, but what he likes even _less_ would be how the hood feels around his ears.  
  
Sounds comes through muffled, now, and there's some drag when he tries to move his ears around in either emotional responses or simply to swivel them about in order to hear better in a certain direction. Even his tail feels confined....  
  
Still, there's no helping it, and he steps forward when Claude pats his arm in sympathy. There's only one way to go, now... To the hallway and exit he's seen hundreds of people walk through and into for years, now.  
  
Something occurs to him, however, and he pauses to look down at Claude. "If I pick you up, I could go faster," he suggests. "You said fifteen minutes..." He knows his strength is one of his only good points, and so he's positive that he could pick up Claude quickly, and move just as fast as if he were carrying nothing at all. With padded feet... He might be quieter than expected.  
  
Yet Claude merely chuckles. "I'm not worried about the time limit anymore," he says. "I can't imagine we'll make it if we rush or not. I figure dismantling that room in some way so that it can't be used again, without causing so much noise that we'll be discovered... That's going to be at least a half an hour job, nevermind the time it takes for us to travel there and then out of the monastery. We'll just have to hope that the sleeping poison does its work and keeps the guards under.  
  
"And as romantic and attractive as the prospect of carrying me is... I think it would make more sense for me to go first down the halls, then call you forward once the coast is clear, don't you think? If I'm spotted by anyone, it won't be totally disastrous, so I can be a sort of early warning system." A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "Luckily, there should be no problems getting into the summoning room itself, since there's no real reason for security. Or for anyone to use it while there's an executioner handy..."  
  
Well.... Dimitri shrugs. If that's what Claude thinks, then he's willing to go along with it. Personally, he'd lowered how important caution was compared to speed... but his friend's priorities must be the opposite. As long as they aren't caught... As long as they destroy that room... Those are the two important things for the time being. Anything else can be sidelined... even his own anger and recklessness.  
  
Before he can press onwards to continue Claude's plan, a sudden swear leaves his friend's lips. "Ah, shit, I almost forgot-" He reaches out, into Dimitri's cloak, until his hands can wrap around - mostly around, kind of - Dimitri's wrist. The same wrist that.... "Your control mark, the tattoo - we should disrupt it before anything else, so that they can't control you even if they catch us." His thumb runs over the lines burned in there, ages ago, by a magic touch that had hurt in a way Dimitri hadn't realized things could hurt. "If we break the lines of the tattoo, with a cut or something, it won't work again until it either heals cleanly, or you're given a new one."  
  
Dimitri looks down at where they're connected, where Claude's hand seems so small around the curve of his wrist. It's not even enough to cover up the miserably pale branding lines of his tattoo. This night has already been so full of emotion as it is... Dimitri has always run on his emotions before, when it was only him instead of Claude visiting occasionally, but even this is far too much for him.  
  
"That's all it takes...?" He feels dazed as he says it, off-balance. For as long as he can remember, he's _always_ hated the tattoo that burns far too white past his fur. Yet it had never occurred to him to simply make it... fail. To stop its hold on him. If he'd known that... "I would have torn it off long ago if I'd known that..."  
  
Claude shakes his head, hands digging onto his belt again; Dimitri can't quite see what he's reaching for in the darkness. "They'd have simply restrained you in other ways, and then reapplied it," he says. "It's really only going to be useful now that they can't put it back on you." Claude pulls his hand out and there is a small knife, fitting perfectly in the palm of Claude's hand. "I've got a bandage, so we can stop you from dripping blood, but... This is a pretty important part of the plan. And your freedom. Do you want to do it, or should I...?"  
  
The knife seems like it should be so much _more_. Instead, in the dark of night, it's hard to see it at all, and it's small in his own hand when he reaches up to wrap his fingers around Claude's. It's a serious question... but Dimitri only hesitates a moment before he knows and gives his answer. "Both of us," he murmurs quietly, looking up into Claude's eyes.  
  
Claude gazes back and nods, his own grip tightening around the knife's handle. "Not too deep, but not too shallow," he says quietly, reaching up with his other hand so that he can trace his finger right down Dimitri's wrist. He goes right through the center... breaking through every single line that makes up his brand. A bisection. "Just one cut should be enough to disrupt the design... but we'll slice through the entire design, top to bottom. Just to make sure."  
  
Never has Dimitri used a knife, even when opponents have been shoved into the execution ring with one in hand. Even when he'd batted it from their grip, or bit through their wrist. It's a strange idea, to hold one now... even if all he does is follow the curve of Claude's own hand, feels his fingers settle over his friend's knuckles. Together, they guide the blade to Dimitri's outstretched arm, where the church's brand stands out even during a night with no moon.  
  
With all his experience in death, Dimitri has a rough idea in how much will kill a person, or debilitate them. Once, in order to make sure he could accomplish at least one goal in the arena, he practiced against... an unfortunate number of people, just to see what a fight could become, and how much a person could get hurt. It was important, then. He hopes it's an importance that has stayed. Yet for something like this... It's far too delicate for someone like him.  
  
Yet that would only be the case if it were him alone doing this. Claude's hand in his is slow, but a bit more certain in where to press the blade, how much pressure to apply exactly. Dimitri knows they're successful by the sharp flash of pain that pops in his arm. He ignores it. There have been a great many times where he's faced far worse than this... even when the blade begins to slide down.  
  
He risks a glance up towards Claude's face, and marvels at the details he can make of it. His tight jaw, the furrow of his brows, the way the corner of his mouth spasms in distaste at the blood that's pooling at the cut along Dimitri's skin.  
  
Maybe it would be better if they went quickly, to wipe away that kind of expression from Claude's face, but Dimitri knows that they can't. Not if they want to be careful, and not go too deep. He knows that would distress Claude far more.  
  
Soon, they've gone all the way through, and Claude hurriedly tucks the knife away in exchange for something else from one of the pouches on his belt - white, in a roll. Ah. "They'll never control you again," Claude mutters as he wraps Dimitri's wrist up hastily in a bandage, before too much blood can pour out from his arm, his wrist, and onto the dirt beneath their feet. His eyes are burning again as he works. Almost as much as Dimitri... He seems to hate the church for what they did to him, for the control of his entire person.  
  
All this time, the idea of freedom has still seemed so strange, so disconnected from his actual self, even when he'd been in a rage and wanted to be unleashed onto this miserable place.  
  
But as he watches Claude's expression... It sinks in even further, and he can't hold himself back. Dimitri only waits long enough for Claude to finish bandaging his wrist before he reaches up with his free hand. Gently as always, taking care for his claws to not scratch at him, he tilts Claude's face upwards, and ducks his own down for a kiss.  
  
It's something that has to be done quickly... and Dimitri suspects he's used a little too much teeth even before he pulls away. Yet none of that seems to bother Claude very much, with a soft smile on his face as the two of them part.  
  
"No one else shall control me either," Dimitri murmurs to him. Not a single other person. There is only Dimitri himself, now... and maybe Claude. Still, even if Claude said the time limit from before doesn't matter, they shouldn't waste any more time. He straightens up, and takes one of Claude's hands in his. "This way."  
  
In the perhaps decade that he's been trapped inside of his cage, Dimitri has only ever gone down one path in the hallway leading from it - the path that directs one down towards the execution ring where he's unleashed to kill another person. Yet that means it's always been very easy for him to remember the way he was _brought_ from: the part of the monastery that once held his old room... and the room in which he was first summoned.  
  
Yet he can't go very far before Claude pulls away from him. "Alright," he murmurs, "Let me go ahead. I'll go as far as the next corner, and, if the coast is clear, I'll gesture for you to follow. Okay?"  
  
Dimitri's tail smacks against the inside of his cloak, producing a couple of soft _thmps_ , which shows his displeasure almost as much as the frown on his face does. "I'll wait," he concedes anyway, as much as he doesn't like it. It's what they agreed upon... and they don't have time for much more arguing on the matter.  
  
Still, seeing that look on his face has Claude stay behind a moment longer. "If we see someone, don't kill first, alright?" he warns, looking up at Dimitri. "Remember, a lot of the people here have been lied to. It's the ones in charge or the ones who are fully vicious that are the ones that should pay, not people who've just been tricked. If we run into anyone, we can capture them, and then figure out what to do."  
  
And just like that, he absconds before Dimitri can say anything to the contrary, and Dimitri's tail thrashes again. So. Claude _also_ has his way of making sure arguments don't happen. He leaves before they can. Curious and infuriating in equal measure.  
  
Dimitri doesn't dwell on his aggravation for too long. He's more interested in watching the way Claude walks. It's honestly... incredibly impressive, in the way that Dimtiri feels like he used to watch small animals when he was a child. Back then, he'd been amazed at their swiftness and agility.  
  
With Claude.... He does his best to walk absolutely silently, as quietly as he can physically make himself. At the same time... He walks casually. He doesn't walk like he had when he'd made his way across the courtyard to Dimitri. Instead, he walks, or at least tries to walk, tries to mimic, that same casual stride Dimitri has watched from behind his bars so many times before, in other people.  
  
Faintly, he wonders how hard it is, because thinking about that helps making this awkward stop-and-wait much easier to bear. It's the same reason why he adjusts his hands so that he can rub at the bandage around his wrist, for a solid reminder of all they have to do. That kind of casual stride isn't something that's done with stealth in mind... There's not much time for Dimitri to contemplate it. Claude reaches the hand of the hall, looks around the corner, and quickly gestures for Dimitri.  
  
With the situation as it is, Dimitri doesn't hold himself back like Claude does. He surges forward, the movement of his cloak more of a problem than his padded footsteps, and comes to a quick stop besides Claude. "Are you certain of where you are going?" he asks Claude, still frowning as he listens. His hearing still isn't as he wants it...  
  
"Completely." Claude flashes a confident smile. "I've been planning to break you out since I found you again, so I did my homework. I've got the layout of the entire monastery memorized." And then he's moving ahead of him again.  
  
There's something... touching, the knowledge that Claude has been working this hard for him for so long, even when Dimitri knows he was at his worst. When he knows he didn't deserve or earn Claude's kindness through any action of his own. All Dimitri can do now in the present moment, however, is tuck those thoughts and feelings to the side of his heart. Claude is on the move again, after all.  
  
The more he's spoken with Claude these past months, the more he's remembers - so much. Words and phrases have been the most obvious things, certainly, but... there are others as well. As the two of them move together, Dimitri finds himself looking at Claude and seeing not the dark hallways of the monastery, but instead an expanse of blue rippling underneath him, underneath the bow of a boat.  
  
There were fish that his father sometimes pointed out, either just barely showing up near the surface, or something caught when fishermen would haul their nets out from the water. He said that the presence of them was said to harbor larger creatures, sharks and the like, so if you saw them swimming ahead all on their own...  
  
He thinks of that now, as he watches Claude move so swiftly ahead of himself, uneventful in his own right, and yet more than his own.  
  
No one intercepts them in their journey throughout the halls. There's not a single living soul. Dimitri had always thought the monastery quiet from within his cage, but it truly seems as though such a thing has penetrated to the very bones of such a place.  
  
Claude moves so quickly, too. Eventually, at the corner of one turn, he gestures for Dimitri to come even as he's already moving around it. By the time Dimitri reaches the corner, Claude is already down the hall, and crouched down before a door.  
  
Dimitri has no idea what Claude is doing, besides witchcraft apparently, because there's a loud click before Dimitri is so much as halfway down the hall. Claude pulls back, looking smug, and completely self satisfied. "What did you do?" Dimitri dares to murmur, blinking.  
  
"I picked the lock," Claude replies, just as quietly, putting away a pair of very thin metal sticks into some small pouches on his belt. "You don't necessarily need a key to get into places, if you know how to make it work..."  
  
That... definitely sounds like some sort of magic to Dimitri. Aren't locks made so that _only_ keys can enter them? Only their key can unlock them? Well... It's a mystery that he can now investigate at a later date, thanks to the freedom he now has stretched in front of him. What's more important is the simple door that is before him now, more physically, and Dimitri looks at it with his heart beating hard in his chest.  
  
It looks like such a plain thing - like dozens of other doors that he has seen before on their way here. The kind of thing one could so easily pass by without looking twice. As the surprise from Claude's talent begins to ebb away, something in Dimitri's stomach clenches hard. This... will be a place that he has not seen since he was a child, since perhaps a decade ago. There's so much past this door... and yet all he can do is reach out, and push it open. Step inside.  
  
Despite how long it's been, despite his only memories of this room being from when he was a child... Absolutely nothing feels changed in the room he steps into. Dimitri suddenly feels as though _he_ has not changed. The gloom of the place washes over him, a tidal wave of memories and emotions that makes him rock back on his feet. Every single breath of air is knocked out from his lungs. All he can do... is stare inside.  
  
It's not a very small room. Of course, in some ways, the cage he lived in is larger, made in mind for all the movement he needs in order to stay fit and active for executions.  
  
Yet this is large for a different purpose. His mind can recall the scene so easily, even now, years later: a small circle of people around him, and then, past them, others whose gazes had seemed so heavy. Back then, he'd attributed it to just his disorientation. He had to be mistaken, hadn't he? Now, he understands what their purpose must have been: there in case he became violent.  
  
Dazed, his heartbeat far too loud in his ears, Dimitri looks around the room. To the side are cabinets, glass revealing all manner of things inside, and a few open shelves with books on them. Opposite of them are a small basin, some space for the preparation of some thing or another, and there before him, right across from the door...  
  
He knows the statue that stands there, towering over all who would enter. He has seen the similar statues along his route to the execution ring. Dimitri might not know her name... but he knows her as the saint this place so adores. Clasped hands held before her, hair that rolls over her shoulders, a peaceful expression... If she were a real person, then perhaps she would be kind, and soft.  
  
Dimitri has always found her cold, and domineering, and cruel. The reason for that... lies right there between the two of them, right there in the dead center of the room.  
  
It's smudged. Dimitri takes that in faintly as he wobbles froward, feet unsteady beneath him. The summoning circle that first dragged him away from his home, and dumped him here, in this terrible place... It's the exact same thing he can remember seeing in the rush and hurry during that terrible moment. It hasn't changed even the slightest. Certainly, there are places where something has dragged over the lines, and it is faded from how many years it has been... Why wouldn't it be? Its purpose was served long ago...  
  
His heart is louder. He can't breathe. Nausea is filling him, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he can still remember it so clearly, remember waking up dazed and sick and scared surrounded by people-  
  
"I'm here," Claude says, suddenly right there against his ear, and Dimitri realizes that he's started to hunch over, clench his claws with the need to rend vengeance for the tragedy that had destroyed him so much. Claude's arms are wrapped around him, an anchor keeping him tightly wound to the present. "Remember: you're free now. We're getting out of here, as soon as no other voa get dragged here ever again." His arms squeeze around him.  
  
Clumsily, fumbling, Dimitri reaches up to lay his hands over Claude's. Claude's here. He's free. Shakily, he inhales. He's free. He's not back there again - not really, not in the same way as he was as a child. He's not in his cage. He's free.  
  
Another squeeze, and then Claude presses closer to him, until his mouth is near his ear, on the other side of the hood. "The only way they'll ever have any say over what happens to you, ever again, is if they catch us here, so we need to make sure they don't. Okay? Now help me figure out a way to destroy this stuff, quietly."  
  
Shaking, Dimitri presses one of Claude's hands down until it's against his chest, over his heart. The words all make sense. He knows what they mean. It just takes a second for him to _remember_ that.  
  
But soon, he remembers how to breathe, how to speak, even as he shakes wildly all over. "Get the books," he says, voice straining to be quiet. He knows books, can remember them. Can remember their purpose, and how important they are here. "They probably - know how to make this symbol." The one right there in front of him.  
  
Claude nods, and finally releases Dimitri, slowly. Dimitri only watches his friend long enough to make sure he goes over to the cabinets, to see him fiddle with the lock again so that the cabinet doors swing open. When he's certain of that...  
  
More than anything else, he wants to tear the stones from the floor, smash them through some of the pretty windows he's seen in the monastery. He wants to see the entire monastery in ruins, an empty shell of all it once stood for.  
  
But he can't have that. Not yet. So Dimitri does what he can as he falls to his knees, the impact vibrating through his bones. It feels good - solid. It feels as though he still has a body with which he can do things. That reminder has Dimitri lean forward over the white markings that are still so clear in a lot of ways, despite how time has taken its toll on them. Reaching down, he smears his palms against the lines and curves. The stone floor is far from gentle against his palms. Impressive, really, considering they have years of hard work and violence behind them.  
  
Dimitri doesn't mind. Far from it. The burn shoots through him, makes his heart pound faster, and he grinds his palms across another wide expanse of the circle. Again, and again, going in wide arcs to disrupt as much of it as he possibly can before he starts to aggressively paw at the details. His movements draw dust up from the ground, fill the air around him with bits of white that float and twist through the air. It's suffocating - familiar in some manner, although he can't think how, can't think where. There's just the violent scrub of his hands against stone, the soreness grinding through his flesh. Dimitri doesn't care. He barely cares when the smell of something burning begins to fill his lungs, and he just then realizes that he's gone all across the circle.  
  
It was smeared lightly in the beginning, when he first set foot into the room. Now, it is nothing more than white across gray in the gloom, and Dimitri rocks back with a ragged gasp. His trembling hands rise up, sweep against his face, up into his hair, along his horns. The smell of the powder, whatever it is... It's stronger now, sinking into his lungs. He knows it. He does. But from where?  
  
As his mind goes in spirals, Dimitri finally forces himself to look up. The rest of the world is foggy, suffocating, and he searches out Claude - Claude, the person who clears his mind, who brings him back to earth and anchors him in a way he hasn't felt for so long.  
  
He doesn't have to look far. At the water basin, long dry and empty, Claude has gathered a thick tome in his hand. He steadily feeds the flame he's started there, his fuel the pages he's ripping out methodically. Dimitri isn't sure what, exactly, was in that tome... but the fire born from those cursed papers burns bright, and something about the way it illuminates Claude's face, that strange and solemn expression there...  
  
Dimitri breathes in. Out. He stares at Claude, remembers that anger which had wrapped around him like a blanket, and breathes in again. The smoke is minimal, thanks to Claude's careful control of it, along with the size of the basin. It's only thanks to his nose and the heightened sense of smell that comes with it, courtesy of being a voa, that he can smell it so strongly. Feeling a little more stable, with the smell of that powder settled deep in his lungs, Dimitri shakily pushes himself up. He's fine.  
  
He's fine.  
  
Looking around, he scans the room some more. Thanks to even that small fire, it's at least somewhat bright inside the room, and he can see its interior even better than with only his night vision. Leaving Claude to handle the fire he's started, Dimitri does his best to ignore that overbearing statue.  
  
Instead, he drags himself over to the cupboards. Claude has opened all of them, in the time that Dimitri has been preoccupied with his own task. Unsure of what else he should do, Dimitri slowly crouches down in front of the cupboards to get a better look at their contents.  
  
In one cupboard, the absence of the tome that Claude took is more than apparent as the row of books slumps towards one end. None of the others have been disturbed, as far as Dimitri can tell... Well, he'll put his trust in Claude that the book he took is the only one which deserves to be destroyed. Anything else... By Dimitri's estimate, he supposes they must be worthless.  
  
The other cupboard is of slightly more interest to Dimitri. The various vials and bottles and instruments lined up along the shelves glitter almost maliciously in the flicking light that Claude is tending to. Some of them seem old to Dimitri, older than even he would have expected, with a layer of dust and old twine wrapped about them. Some of them seem to be completed concoctions, with labels written upon them in Fodlish. Dimitri can't read those; he can only speak that language. Most of them seem to be liquid, some of them are little items that he can't quite make out through the dust and colored glass...  
  
And then there are a pair that stand out.  
  
Dimitri has to go through the various bottles, putting most of them aside, before he finds them. A pair of carefully preserved bottles are tucked away in the back as though to be hidden from even the saint's cold stone sight. Only those have him pause, staring at them. They.... are of a different shape than the other bottles and vials about. One of them is much smaller than its companion, filled with a dark liquid that he can't smell with how firmly it's been sealed up. The other is a bit larger, filled with some sort of.... white dust...  
  
Dimitri reaches for it almost without thinking, popping the vial open. Immediately, more of that smell - the smell from the circle - washed up into his nose. He knows it. _He **knows** it_. Dimitri is positive of it. And yet he can't place it, not with his nose alone. Dimitri stares down into the vial, hesitant for only a moment, before he slides one finger into it. For someone as large as him, it's almost a struggle. Clearly the vial was meant for human fingers and not those of a voa. But he manages, getting just a little bit upon the tip of his claw...  
  
And he places it upon his tongue.  
  
Immediately, the sense of familiarity rolls through him even stronger, and he does know this, he _does_. He has tasted this so many times, he knows it. And he knows it because-  
  
"Dimitri?" Claude's tone is sharp, snaps through the fog of his thoughts, and Dimitri looks up out of pure habit for Claude's voice. The fire is starting to die, leaving them in almost complete darkness again, but Dimitri is still able to make out the furrow inbetween his friend's brow. "What are you doing? Is that even safe?"  
  
Dimitri... doesn't answer him for a moment. He's so close to understanding the taste on his tongue, so near to the memory he's sure lurks within his brain and is simply waiting for him to stumble upon it. He knows this almost as much as he knows the burn of his muscles, the contempt of his captors, the way he bites down into flesh and deeper, deeper.... Oh.  
  
He looks up at Claude, the puzzled expression that's contorted his face melting away. "Claude... It's bone," he says softly, and can hear Claude go still in the utter darkness. Dimitri rubs his fingers together, feels how the dust grinds down against his finger pads. "I've tasted bone before..."  
  
As a matter of fact, he's tasted bone many times throughout his life as an executioner. In the ring, where he's only ever had his claws and fangs, it's almost been inevitable at times. He thinks he's bitten just about all the major parts of a body, sunk his fingers in as deep as they could go, tore past flesh and muscle and blood until the dirt beneath their feet had become nothing more than mud soaked red.  
  
He can remember doing it himself, and not doing it himself, 'waking' as though from a terrible nightmare with the brand on his wrist burning hot and a mutilated corpse before him. The tastes in his mouth, the sharp biting flavor of blood and everything else... Dimitri has always known that he would never forget it, them, until the day he died.  
  
And in his cage, as well. Sometimes, on better days or when the stew would be too cold for even himself, they would toss him meat still on its bone. So many days spent huddling in sunlight, gnawing on actual bone to get whatever sustenance he could...  
  
How could he have ever forgotten this taste, for even a moment?  
  
"The same smell was in the circle," he murmurs, listening as Claude's footsteps start up again, come closer to him. The shadow that is his friend stands in front of him, staring upwards, before his hand extends. Waits.  
  
Dimitri understands, even if, in a lot of ways, he doesn't. He hands over the vial, and listens as Claude promptly shuts it. Perhaps the smell wasn't exactly the same - some additions to that on the floor, clarity in the vial without any flesh or blood - but still. He's certain.  
  
Claude trusts his certainty as well, because he doesn't argue or question him. All he does is quietly say, "We'll bury the bottle when we're out of here." Before Dimitri can question anything himself, Claude forcefully steers the conversation elsewhere. "Can you help me start pouring whatever else is in those bottles down the basin?" He nods his head in the direction of it, where the smell of smoke lingers. "We have to do them one at a time, because who knows what will happen if we mix them."  
  
Dimitri supposes he can understand that concern. This room is used for terrible rituals, even if it's simply the one repeated over and over and over again. Every single thing in the cupboards... Those are used in these sorts of things, and so they must be destroyed. With one last look towards the vial that Claude is tucking away onto one of the satchels of his belt, something Dimitri can see even in this almost pure darkness, he unsteadily pushes himself up onto his feet before getting to work.  
  
Still, it's a bit hard to do all of this in the pitch black now that the basin fire is out. Claude seems to understand that as well. He lights up a small bit of fire with his kit from before, something that can at least help them both figure out shapes in the room instead of being completely blind.  
  
With that bit of help, Dimitri crouches down before the cabinet again so that he can start gathering bottles into his arms. "I will listen for anyone else who is passing by," he tells Claude quietly as his friend crouches down besides him, looking through the other cabinet. Maybe there's still more to go through in that than he thought.  
  
All he gets in return as an answer is a grim faced nod. Well, this is a grim task. Dimitri can't blame him.  
  
All he can do is cradle the various bottles close to his chest, and go to the basin that Claude was at only a moment ago. It's fortunate that he has some room where he can put down the bottles. That makes it slightly easier as he begins to tug off the various seals and tops, and gets to work.  
  
The sound of pouring liquid, hitting stone, swirling down the drain... It's so noisy in the emptiness of the room, but Dimitri doesn't let himself be bothered by it. As long as he can hear anything that is outside, in the hallway... Then that's all that matters.  
  
Claude helps him by bringing over the rest of the bottles so that they're in easy reach. It's a task that takes up a lot of Dimitri's attention, nose wrinkling in distaste at some of the smells which waft out from the containers. He knows that this doesn't technically mean it's terrible... but he is disinclined to all of it as it is, considering the place where they've been found.  
  
Yet none of the smells he opens up can block that of blood. Dimitri snaps his head around, hackles raised, fangs bared. Claude isn't hurt; there's no sign of another person within.  
  
Claude has simply managed to get up on the pedestal that the saint stands upon... and is dragging two of his fingers down along her cheeks, where a dark liquid drips down. Dimitri's nostrils flare. Even from a distance... he knows what that smell is. He knows it just like he knows the taste of bone snapping in his jaws.  
  
Though he knows that he still has plenty of other bottles to pour down the basin, Dimitri leaves them behind. He walks over to where Claude is quietly working. "Blood as well," he says quietly, a simple little observation.  
  
Claude's fingers hesitate a moment, but continue their morbid work, trying to make the blood look as natural as tears falling from the saint's eyes. More than the cold expression on the statue's face, however... Dimitri is trapped more by the dark look on Claude's face, foreign and heavy.  
  
Unable to help himself, he reaches over to lightly press his fingertips along Claude's cheek. A smear of white is there, left behind. Claude's eyes soften a bit, and he finally pauses properly. "You... know something I do not."  
  
"Guessed, maybe," Claude admits, adding a little more care to the statue's tears of blood. It's coming along nicely now, almost. As though the statue really did begin to cry. "But we can talk about it once we're outside. It's better to focus on what we need to do now."  
  
If that is what Claude says... Dimitri will believe him. There are only a few bottles left regardless, and so Dimitri finishes pouring them as well. They carry the ashes of paper along with them, as though none of it ever existed at all. By the time he turns, Claude is stepping down from the stone, and tucking the vial of blood he'd used into his satchel as well - the same vial that had been right next to the one of bones, hidden away in a little corner of the cabinet. It looks like they're both satisfied now, and Dimitri glances up to assess the job Claude has done. If this is some sort of message... He can only imagine how the people of this church will react.  
  
"Can you think of anything else we should sabotage here?" Claude asks, and Dimitri drags his gaze around the rest of the room. The floor is nothing but a smear of white, practically embedded into the stone floor. In the cabinet for the books, one is notably devoid of all papers, and the rest of its kin are collapsed against it. The other cabinet holds a variety of various tools that Dimitri doesn't know the purpose of.... but beyond those, their shelves lay bare with all the bottles and vials removed.  
  
Dimitri lets out a slow breath, trying to control the heat which seeks to burn through his veins. "I would tear the stones from their place and shatter the glass of their potions... but those are not quiet things to accomplish." It'd be sarcasm or wit on Claude's tongue. Dimitri says it with a simple and tired honesty.... and no small amount of bitterness. Looking away from all of that, he focuses on Claude once again. "Should you not clean your hands?"  
  
Shrugging, Claude smiles up at him. "That's the least of my worries right now," he tells him. His own gaze flicks around the room, taking in what's visible now that the fire has started to die somewhat. He makes no move to rekindle it. "Let's put the room back the way we found it. Give them a little mystery." His smirk holds no humor to it. "Maybe they'll think it was an act of the Goddess."  
  
"Or a demon," Dimitri says bluntly. "I will put the bottles away. Clean your hand."  
  
"I thought all of this was my idea..." Still, despite his humorless musing, Claude obeys him - he's going to be the person to close the door shut again, and act as the one going ahead when they finally duck out into the hallways again.  
  
In the meanwhile, Dimitri patiently goes to put back every single bottle and vial. He can't remember the order they were all in, but he imagines it likely doesn't matter. This place hasn't been touched in so long, judging by all the dust that is around, that he doubts a single human can remember the exact order everything was in.  
  
When he's done, and Claude's hand is cleaned on the rag that he used to oil up the doors - or at least a dry portion of the rag - his friend goes back to the cabinets. There, he can redo the locks that he took care of before. "You know, if they end up terrified that a demon magicked you and all their supplies away, and made their saint cry tears of blood, I can't say I'd lose any sleep over it," he says dryly, before something makes him smile suddenly. Dimitri doesn't have time to ask him what has made his grim mood lighten; Claude finishes before he can, and joins him at the door to the hallway.  
  
Together, the two of them carefully peer out the hallway. It is as still and quiet as when they first arrived, so Dimitri steps out, tail smacking against the inside of his cloak again while Claude works on the lock into the room. No doubt another "little bit of mystery", as he'd mentioned before. Once he's done, he pushes himself back onto his feet. For a moment, just a brief and lingering moment, his hand comes to rest upon Dimitri's arm... and then he turns again, head right back the way they came. As they had agreed on before, Dimitri hangs back until Claude gestures to him to come along once more.  
  
They're heading back the way they came from, just a little bit - Dimitri hadn't realized that was the exit out of this place, but he supposes that makes sense. They wouldn't want their entrance to be so close to the execution ring. There's no reason to think too hard on that. All he does is follow after Claude, and try not to be too bothered by how restricted his ears still feel.  
  
One hallway. A second. Third. It's the fourth that is a problem. When Claude reaches the corner then, he comes to an abrupt stop, and Dimitri's body immediately goes tense. His ears flick back, sticking as close to his head as they can, and his fingers curl into claws ready for anything. It's only at the last second that he remembers how quiet Claude had wanted all of this to be.  
  
That moment of hesitation turns out to be a good thing, just this once. Whatever is happening, Claude doesn't act hastily. Instead, he calmly but with clear concern turns away from the corner.  
  
Dimitri goes to meet him halfway - although with his legs, it's maybe a little more than just halfway. Once they're close enough, Claude reaches up to rest his hand against one arm. That's all Dimitri needs to stop in place completely, frowning down at him. There's that tension again, like back at the cage...  
  
"We need to be careful here," Claude murmurs, voice low. "There's a guard around the corner, down the hallway, but we're fortunate. I can't tell if he's asleep or just about. Still, so long as we're careful, I don't think it will be a problem. We'll walk down the hallway together. Be on the far side of me, so that I'm between you and him. Your feet are still visible under your cloak, but it'll be harder for him to see them - or any part of you - if I'm in the way, even with how tall you are. Walk like you've got every right to be doing what you're doing, but keep your head bowed forward so that the hood hides your face still. He might not even be awake, but even if he is, he's not at his sharpest. Don't speak, don't slow down, and don't look. Understand?"  
  
"The practical parts," Dimitri answers quietly, nose wrinkled and having been that way since Claude tried to tell him how to walk.  
  
It had all been a lot of information, but, fortunately, most of it had been simple, even if it makes his fur stand on its end just thinking about it. This isn't how he does things at all... and he's not confident in his ability to keep calm. Even more confusing and strange, however, are the instructions Claude has given him on how he should hold himself. What does it mean to walk as though he's got every right to be where he is? Where he's going?  
  
"I don't like this..." Still, he takes a deep breath, and tugs his hood further over his head.  
  
Judging by the way Claude is already positioning himself at Dimitri's side... He suspects the guard is going to end up on his blind side. He doesn't like that, especially with his ears muffled like they are thanks to the hood. It feels too heavy, a strange weight on his horns and his head in general. There's an energy burning through him that's just waiting to be unleashed, and this kind of sneaking around... It doesn't suit it at all.  
  
And yet still he tugs the hood up, his toes kneading against the stone floor in anxious energy. "But I will do it," he concedes, pulling his hands back within his cloak so that he is nothing more than some shapeless thing, a ghost drifting through the halls. "And- I will not kill him if something goes wrong." He's not sure how sturdy a promise that is, granted, because he knows no other way to be.  
  
It's a promise worth making regardless, just to see Claude smile up in appreciation, and to earn the softest brush of a kiss along the corner of his mouth. He doesn't say anything out loud. All he does is turn around, and begin walking.  
  
Watching Claude, Dimitri can understand what his friend meant by walking as though he belonged. Claude does it so easily with his shoulders relaxed, no tension, and his steps not faltering in the slightest.  
  
Dimitri.... can't even begin to make himself so much as _feel_ the same, let alone mimic it. Just turning the corner and seeing that figure slumped there against the wall, their head bowed in sleep or something close to it-  
  
His heart starts to pound. It starts to pound so much, so loud, so fiercely, that Dimitri almost can't breathe. If not for Claude right there besides him, just visible enough past the hem of Dimitri's hood - a swing of his hand, the long strides he makes - he doesn't think he would be able to take so much as a step forward. His own breath sounds labored, loud - is it only to his ears? Will it wake the guard up? It feels as if the sounds his body is making should wake everyone in the monastery, should get them caught in the beat of his treacherous heart.  
  
It doesn't. Something about the glimpses of Claude he can see when he dares turn his head relax, and he jolts almost violently when his friend suddenly lays a hand upon his arm, over the cloak. Claude says nothing; it's likely that he's still being so cautious while they're still on church grounds. But the way he squeezes down is reassuring, a comfort. The guard must be deep asleep, then, although Dimitri can't tell exactly.  
  
When they're at the end of the hall, Claude dares to speak up at last. "So far, so good," he murmurs. "We just have to do that again, if we run into any more guards." All Dimitri can do is nod, with his heart now lodged in his throat. More than ever before, the rest of the world has gone strange and blurry, inconsistent. If not for Claude...  
  
Together, they only run into one more guard on the way out, and the encounter happens almost exactly like the one before it. Claude had said something about some sort of sleeping poison being slipped into food... Dimitri would be more impressed, if not for everything else. All he can do is stick close to Claude until, at long last, they reach a door that Claude goes to open... and Dimitri steps outside.  
  
The simple step outside of his cage had knocked Dimitri's breath away. Even confined by four walls still, just being able to see the night sky stretched so vast and deep over his head had made him feel as though he couldn't be contained in his body alone.  
  
But to stop outside of the church itself... For a moment, even with Claude's hand gently tugging at his arm, Dimitri doesn't move an inch. All he can do is stare out towards the city stretched out below him, shadows of varying depths, mostly dark except for the occasional spark of light from what is presumably a home, or those that drift along dark streets. In the back of his head, he feels like he can see a similar sight.... Dark shapes stretched out beneath him, and in the distance, reflecting the glitter of the night sky...  
  
Claude's pulling, and a quiet hurried murmur, finally snap him out of it. Dimitri allows his friend to start pulling him along. The streets are pitch black, lit by nothing much at all, and yet Claude pulls him along without even a single bit of hesitation.  
  
It's more than Dimitri can say for himself. Every deep shadow suddenly becomes a threat as they pass by, and the darkness blurs together as they hurry through the streets with his chest aching. Someone is going to catch them, Dimitri feels suddenly. Everything has been going too good, too smoothly - someone _has_ to catch them. And if someone catches them, then he has to protect Claude, he has to get them out of here, no matter-  
  
Light. It cuts through Dimitri's throughts like the way it spills so easily across the stone of the streets, and he looks away from the shadows of small paths between houses. Somehow, when he wasn't looking, they made it.... all the way through town.  
  
There, before them, is a large set of iron bars almost not unlike the ones that barred him from freedom inside his cage. It takes him a second of staring to realize that the details are a little bit different, that it looks as though they can be pulled up somehow... And that second is all that Claude needs to check over the small separate building attached to the wall surrounding the city, right near the bars.  
  
"The guard is asleep here, too," he murmurs, his hand going to Dimitri's arm again. Focusing, Dimitri realizes that's where the light is coming from, and inside is a man seated, slumped against some sort of tiny wooden furniture - a desk of some sort, right, he remembers now. How much work has Claude done to get his sleeping poison out amongst guards? How will he get away with it?  
  
There's no real time to think about it. Following Claude's lead, Dimitri goes with him behind the guard building, where a set of stone steps are made a part of the wall. It had never occurred to Dimitri that something like this could have a way to get to the top... Then again, he hadn't thought that because, for him, it had seemed easy to simply haul himself up there. Regardless, he follows Claude until the two of them stand atop the wall and, for the first time in so many years... Dimitri looks out to the rest of the world.  
  
At his side, the cloak is brushed away, and Claude's hand slides into his - such a tiny little thing compared to his own, and yet so warm, so comforting. "Ready to leave?" Claude whispers, looking out to the same rolling countryside that Dimitri is captivated by.  
  
Even in the darkness, he can see the pale wind of a dirt road that leaves from the city down into hills and fields. There, various little buildings are just barely visible in the darkness - farms. That's right, Dorothy had said she was from a farming home just outside the city as well... And then, past all of those, there are mountains that reach up towards the sky, covered in a blanket of trees whose strange shapes are obvious as they creep down from the mountain and towards areas nearer to the city.  
  
Dimitri feels so dazed, so lost, as he stares at it all. There's nothing stopping them anymore. There's everything he could have ever dreamed off, could have missed, when he was trapped inside of his cage. Nothing terrible happened. His hand twitches around Claude's. "...Just this?" he finally asks, turning to stare down at Claude's brilliant smile. "It... only takes just this?" Just one little drop, down to the ground?  
  
"Don't think it'd be this easy without all the work I put in," Claude says, winking. "But yeah, this is it. All we have to do is jump down... and disappear." He chuckles. "I'd offer to lower you down, but you'd drag me right off the wall, probably. But with those feet of yours, I imagine you can land pretty lightly."  
  
Considering those words, Dimitri looks back to Claude as he steps forward to the drop. "So I should lower you down," he says, sincere and decisive. A part of him still feels dazed and out of it from how so much has happened in one night alone... but he still knows that Claude really has put in so much work to make all of this happen. That it's gone so smoothly is a testament to that. So before Claude can do anything but stare and blink, Dimitri crouches down and presses his hands against the edge of the wall.  
  
Before, in the arena and when he was young, he often tried to scramble up the walls, hoping that he could somehow escape. While it clearly never happened, those walls were far taller than the ones he stands upon now. It's easy to twist himself around, fall so that he's hanging from the wall. Just like the height of the wall wasn't very high at all, the drop isn't much either. It feels like he's just given a slight jump before he's landing once again - he really is quite tall, he supposes. It's so different to realize this in comparison to buildings and structures, instead of people.  
  
Dimitri doesn't bother to think on it for more than a second. Making sure his footing is secure, he looks up towards the top of the wall again, and holds out his arms for Claude expectantly.  
  
Staring down at him, Claude laughs softly. "Is it just me, or have you been looking for an excuse to have me in your arms all night?" he teases quietly, and that's it. He jumps down, with no hesitation, and... it seems as though the world realigns itself into something _right_ with his weight in Dimitri's arms, the warmth of him against his chest.  
  
"This is all I can do," he murmurs into Claude's hair, wanting to hold him close. Instead, he lowers him gently to the ground. All this planning, and all this work... He can't let a single bit of it go to waste because of his own selfishness. In contrast, what did he want to do? Nothing that would have lead them out here, for however much satisfaction it would have given him. And the entire time, he would have been unaware of how much work Claude has done...  
  
With Claude on his feet, Dimitri looks out once more to all the land before them. Now that they are not on top of the wall, it feels even more vast, as though it will swallow the two of them up. It's.... overwhelming, in a way he's not felt since he was a child, suddenly trapped in a small room with so many people he couldn't recognize. With his heart pounding and aching in his chest, all he can do is reach besides him, and find Claude's hand already reaching back. That same bright and hopeful smile meets his gaze when he looks down. Just like that... He feels himself settle again.  
  
It's okay. It's going to be okay. Even if the world swallows him up... He has Claude's hand in his, to keep him anchored.  
  
Right now, being anchored means allowing Claude to pull him along, away from the wall. They cut across the large road leading up to the city - not following it, or going directly across, but in a diagonal, like a sword's cut. Their route is focused straight ahead, towards the forest creeping down from the mountains. Claude holds onto him tightly, and Dimitri holds onto him just as much, and they disappear into the forest.  
  
Into the shadows.  
  
Into freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! The very last chapter for this fic.... but not the last of this story. As you might have noticed, this is going to be the first of a *series*, meant to go into a few more things on Dimitri and Claude's journey. However, writing the whole series would be kind of impossible for the time limit of the DMCL Big Bang... and also, we, uh, haven't even remotely finished RPing a lot of it, lmao. 
> 
> One of the things that happens when you base fanfic off of RP lmao!
> 
> Despite that, I hope this was a satisfactory fic for all of you! I plan to make each segment of the series something that you could, Theoretically, jump right into with minimal understanding and then end it on a solid enough note. For this one, the point was Dimitri and Claude's reunion, and then freedom! The next fic aims to be roughly as contained and focused towards a particular thing in their lives. We'll see how it goes!
> 
> Once again, I want to thank so many people here. Toasty must be given a great many thanks for not only creating the original and incredible animatics and concepts for Escape From Divinity, but allowing me and many others to play in this sandbox. Again, go check out all their work, reblog and retweet, and just support them as much as you can. 
> 
> Second, we have my great RP partner, Callie/Lymmea! The bastard who got me into Fire Emblem Three Houses/Dimiclaude in the first place, and with this RP as the bait, ha ha. The vast majority of incredible Claude moments and thought processes is all thanks to them! And they graciously allowed me to make this a RP, and also still consistently catch me forgetting words. Whoops. 
> 
> Finally, my artist partners for this bang, Ri and Rose, have done incredible work, and it's been an honor to work alongside them. Once again, please check out all the things they've done for this: 
> 
> Ri's piece used for the cover:  
> https://twitter.com/Rihamsterr/status/1373725239352426503?s=20
> 
> Rose's piece used for the smut scene:  
> https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist/status/1373337679014862850?s=20
> 
> Rose's piece as the end cover:  
> https://twitter.com/MC_Rose_artist/status/1372961673523441686?s=20
> 
> thank you for reading this far and for all the support. 
> 
> The lyrics for this final chapter: 
> 
> "But I will die for my own sins thanks a lot  
> We will rise up ourselves thanks for nothing at all  
> So up off the ground, our forefathers are nothing but dust now"


End file.
